‘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. Heard voices. He’ll never ask because I’m not in with those people, you know? Well, I guess John Diedermayer might have some connection, but, I certainly don’t. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. Anything that had love in it! The doctor comprehended that he also had his work cut out. Damn! I’ve splashed.
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