Spurling's sooty imp, Caliban. You are different, Lucia, undamaged even after what you have been through, still pure of heart. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. ‘Not entirely English then. Everything was going to hell. ‘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.
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