"'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. ‘Gabbling and muttering in a foreign tongue, that’s what I heard, sir,’ had declared the gap-toothed ancient, when he told them of the initial foray he had made, sneaking around the house in the dark. I put my foot down like—like adamant.
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