It was of no use, she let him do it as she could not be strangled. “It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. So was I, in fact. The small Diedermayer clan was a captive audience. Death belongs to God, young man. She admitted her pleasure to Ramage. .
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