Gwin. Aye and his own legs, they cannot do him better service than by removing him from where he is not wanted.
Gray. (Coming between them, folding his arms, and looking doggedly at Gwinett.) Now I sha’n’t go.
Gwin. Would you quarrel, fellow?
Gray. Aye—yes—come will you fight with me?
Lucy. (Interposing.) For heaven’s sake! subdue this rashness—Gwinett—Grayling—good kind Master Grayling—
Gray. Good kind Master Grayling—you speak falsely Lucy Fairlove—
Gwin. Falsely?
Gray. Aye, Falsely! she thinks me neither good nor kind—but I see how it is—I have thought so a long time, (after eying Gwinett and Lucy with extreme malice.) I see how it is—ha! ha! ha! (Laughing sarcastically.)
Gwin. Fellow, look not with such devilish malice but give your venom utterance.
Gray. Venom—aye—the right word, venom,—and yet who’d have thought we should have found it where all looked so purely.