Now, however, as Gerald watched them, their heads were together and they were murmuring in French. ‘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. He then stamped upon the hand on the lower bannister, until that also relaxed its gripe. Heaven alone knows why. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street.
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