“I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. “You shall,” she said. She tried not to blush. At the door to the kitchen, he called out, ‘Pottiswick!’ The old man came out, shoving his chin in the air and glaring.
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