. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. They negotiated several steps, and then the stair turned a corner. He had heard this talk before. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered.
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