" Mr. Marrapit regarded the prone figure. "Her inspirations
grate upon me; her exhalations poison the air. Rouse her. Thrust her
to her room."
"You'll never wake her now till she's slept it off."
"Let us then essay to carry her. She cannot remain here. My shame
shall not be revealed, nor hers uncovered."
George began: "To-morrow--"
"To-morrow I speed her from my gates. My beloved cats have been in the
care of this swinish form. They have been in jeopardy. I tremble at
their escape. To-morrow she departs."
A sudden tremendous idea swept over George, engulfing speech.
With no word he moved to the sofa; grasped the prone figure; put it
upon its weak legs. They gave beneath it. "You must take her feet," he
said.
Averting his gaze, Mr. Marrapit took the legs that Old Tom had
devitalised. The procession moved out; staggered up the stairs.
Heavy was the burden; bursting with vulgar laughter was George; but
that huge idea that suddenly had come to him swelled his muscles, lent
him strength.
He heaved the form upon the bed.
On the dressing-table a candle burned. By its light Mr. Marrapit
discovered Old Tom's bottle, two fingers of the villain yet remaining.
He beat his breast. "Extinguish that light. I to my room. Seek
Fletcher. He patrols the garden for malefactors.
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