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“I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. ’ He turned to Melusine, ignoring the indignant protest that greeted his words. “Leave them!” He yelled. Deserted by his older companion in iniquity, and instigator to crime, he did not know what might become of him; nor, as we have observed, was the sad spectacle he had just witnessed, without effect. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. "Where is he, then?" demanded the other, hastily. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane.
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