"Don't," he said. "You're only a thing that dances. Don't move, I tell you… . Wipe that blood off and go and set the silly girl's heart at rest… . And keep away from her afterward. Do you hear?"
He set his teeth and shook him so wickedly that Dysart's head rolled and his wig fell off.
"I know something of your sloppy record," he continued, still shaking him; "I know about your lap-dog fawning around Miss Seagrave. It is generally understood that you're as sexless as any other of your kind. I thought so, too. Now I know you. Keep clear of me and mine, Dysart… . And that will be about all."
He left him planted against a tree and walked toward the lights once more, breathing heavily and in an ugly mood.
On the edge of the glade, just outside the lantern glow, he stood sombre, distrait, in
