I've had enough.
When Betty Scarlett returned home, she saw her father angrily berating the others, his hair and beard bristling like an enraged lion ready to devour anyone in its path.
The man kneeling before him could only respond meekly, not daring to breathe too heavily, sweat as large as beans dripped from his forehead, soaking his clothes. He didn't dare allow his sweat to fall to the floor, fearing any improper move might provoke the furious lion to open its bloody maw.
If that happened, his family would have to search for him at the sea bottom near Birmingham.
"Get out, get out of my sight," the enraged lion roared.
He quickly stood up, bowed his head, and left the house without a word.
Betty Scarlett watched coldly; since as far back as she could remember, such things happened almost monthly. She was tired of it. She knew clearly that no one could remain unscathed in front of this infuriated lion. Even the mayor, facing him, would show a hint of subtle unease.
