‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones. Its shouting now did in some occult manner convey a protest that Mr. Kneebone was attired in the extremity of the mode. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. At that, the girl jumped up. C below. ‘You put that thing away now, missie. In some things, in many things, you must trust to your elders, to those who know more of life than you do. .
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