"Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. Sir John hesitated, and then continued. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. From the first I could see that neither believed my story. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. If you’ve got anything to say, you must say it to your aunt—” “But look here, daddy!” He flapped the Times at her with an imperious gesture. And now I break the seals—for you. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind.
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