‘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. ‘You escape from your own convent, at great personal danger. —I do not congratulate you on your success. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. Like the Valades, I imagine. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold.
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