Tummas broke in wholly without compunction.
“I've taken liberties aw my loife,” he stated, “an' I'm goin' to tak' 'em till I dee. They're th' on'y things I can tak', lyin' here crippled, an' I'm goin' to tak' 'em.”
“Stop that, Tummas!” said Tembarom with friendly authority. “She doesn't catch on, and you don't catch on, either. You're both of you 'way off. Stop it!”
“I thought happen she could tell me things I didn't know,” protested Tummas, throwing himself back on his pillows. “If she conna, she conna, an' if she wunnot, she wunnot. Get out wi' thee!” he said to Joan. “I dunnot want thee about th' place.”
“Say,” said Tembarom, “shut up!”
“I am going,” said Lady Joan and turned to open the door.
The rain was descending in torrents, but she passed swiftly out into its deluge walking as rapidly as she could. She thought she cared nothing about the rain, but it dashed in her face and eyes, taking her breath away, and she had need of breath when her heart was beating with such fierceness.
“If she wur his widder,” the boy had said.
Even chance could not let her alone at one of her worst moments. She walked faster and faster because she was afraid Tembarom would follow her, and in a few minutes she heard him splashing behind her, and then he was at her side, holding the umbrella over her head.
“You're a good walker,” he said, “but I'm a sprinter. I trained running after street cars and catching the 'L' in New York.”