He shoved, hard; Stephen squirmed sideways. “Not the desk, don’t knock the desk!” he yelped. “I’ve spent all morning doing that—” “The hell with the desk.” Crane shoved it, hard. There was a sad tinkling clatter as a tangle of something metallic collapsed, and Stephen gave a pained cry of protest, which Crane ignored, reaching for him again. Stephen ducked under his arm and sidestepped. Crane grabbed him by the shoulders, walked him back two paces and slammed him against a bookshelf.
