Sir John, who was standing outside, looked past him at the girl still sitting in the shadow. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. His eyes were bright with the hunt. ‘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. And if one were to love some one very much, it’s just so that one would be blindest, just when one wanted most to see. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat.
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