A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. ‘Shall we abandon the guard, then, sir?’ ‘Certainly not. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. But I'm resolved to see Lady Trafford. It's my way when I'm ruffled. It has come,—and sooner than you expected. I cannot do it, David.
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