‘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. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. The flush deck was without wells. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. The spectacle seemed to afford as much amusement to Jonathan as to the actors engaged in it. He had seldom been more perturbed. Vot am I to do vith these young imps, eh?" "What you generally do with your prisoners, Mr.
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