‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas. Annabel thought, and thought again. He drew her close up to him with a strong, steady pull. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. I’m taking no chances. Gerald saw her extract something and leapt aside, calling a warning to Hilary. ‘You mean I should give myself a dressingdown? Very well.
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