A laugh overcame George's fury. He swung on his heel; called “Come” to his Mary; stalked from the house.
As they passed through the gate, “Oh, Georgie!” his Mary breathed. “Oh, Georgie!”
He raged on to her: “What on earth made you say you were sorry? You've no spirit, Mary! No spirit!”
The tremendous young man stalked ahead with huge strides.
In deep melancholy, sore beneath the correction Mr. Marrapit had heaped upon him, Mr. Fletcher wandered from the study; turned as he reached the path. “Me grapple him!” said Mr. Fletcher. “Me a craven! Me thrust him from the house! It's 'ard—damn 'ard. I'm a gardener, I am; not a Ju-jitsu.”