The woman I wanted was another man's wife. Sebastian dared not approach her. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. That he should pay forty pounds to help this girl who preferred another man was no less in his eyes than a fraud and mockery that made her denial a maddening and outrageous disgrace to him. He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett. "By my shalvation, boy," he added, fiercely, "if you don't take your hande off my peard, I'll sthrangle you.
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