“Then—then we can talk things out. And shall their wretched offspring live to blight my hopes, and blast my fame? Never!" And, with these words, he grasped Wood by the throat, and, despite his resistance, dragged him to the very verge of the platform. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. They trudged along a little hungry, because of the fruitarian refreshments, and mentally very active. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. The odd creak was not to be avoided in an old house such as this.
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