‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. Jack had got into one of the pens at the north side of the chapel. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. He declined supper, but took wine. Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a search for particular passages. The first was to break a dinner engagement.
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