A white man takes his life in his hands. ‘Yes, but I’m probably chasing moonbeams. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked. Wood trembled. Lucy's ears were singing. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. And for me there is only one treasure-house. ’ ‘What, even less delightful than Gerald?’ enquired Lucilla, her eyes dancing. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger.
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