“Silence! or you’ll drive me really mad.”
“Now then, get your hat, and come with me.”
“Will you go?”
“Will you come with me?”
“Look here,” said Armstrong. “I can bear no more. I want to be cool and act like a man to the end, but you are pushing me to the very brink.—Will you go?”
“Yes,” said Pacey, buttoning up his coat. “I’m off now, boy.”
“Where?”
“Straight to the police. I’ll swear a breach of the peace against you both, and have you seized, or bound over, or something. This meeting shan’t take place. For Cornel’s sake—do you hear? For her sake, so there!”
He strode to the door, unlocked it, opened, and banged it loudly behind him, and Armstrong stood thinking what course he ought to pursue, while Pacey went straight away, not to the police, but to Thorpe’s hotel, where he told the doctor how matters stood.
“I don’t know what you are to do, sir,” said Thorpe coldly. “I wash my hands of the whole business. He has behaved horribly to my poor sister, and turned her brain. Let him go and be shot.”