Norris, and do not return till Father Spencer arrives. There’s a hansom coming round the corner. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. I mean—I mean to do what I can. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. No— no, it must never be. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. ‘Sit down, won’t you?’ He crossed back to Roding and said low-voiced. Where is Father Spencer? I must have absolution.
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