Marrapit on a note of terror. He reached
for the glass. It was empty.
He struggled to his feet; got the chair between George and himself;
cried across it: "Beware how you touch me."
"Oh, I'm not going to touch you. You needn't be afraid."
"I have every need. I am afraid. Keep your distance. You are not
responsible for your actions."
"You needn't be afraid, I tell you. It is too ridiculous."
"I repeat I have need. Keep your distance. My limbs tremble as one in
a palsy." Mr. Marrapit gripped the chair-back; his shudders advertised
his distress.
"I only want to say this," George declaimed, "that if you refuse what
I ask, you are refusing what is lawfully mine. My mother left you 4000
pounds for my education. At the outside you have spent three. The 500
pounds is mine. I have a right to it."
"Keep your distance, sir."
My furious George took three steps forward.
"Can you answer what I say?" he shouted.
Mr. Marrapit gave a thin cry: turned, and with surprising bounds made
across the lawn. A slipper shot from his foot. He alighted upon a
stone; bounded heavenwards with a shrill scream; and hopping, leaping,
shuffling, made the corner of the house.
George swung on his heel. It occurred to him to visit Bill Wyvern.
CHAPTER IV.
The Rape Of The Rose.
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