"But, however, it may turn out, I disown you. I've come to take you back home. She's plenty clean below. " "Rely on me," rejoined Kneebone. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. I believe you’ve crushed a gland or something. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. You’re mine. In a side-glance—for the floor was variously encumbered with overturned objects—he saw one of his paper weights, a coloured glass ball such as McClintock used in trade.
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