" "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. That is what marriage is to most young women: the ultimate escape from the family, from the unwritten laws that govern children. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. Imbecile. In the sixth center row sat an unexpected guest, his Classical Greek features stark in the yellow half light. If I did not love you en désespoir, I would assuredly blow off your head. And thus he effected his escape from the New Prison. Jack was so harrassed that he felt half inclined to stand at bay. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin.
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