" "At your peril, sirrah!" cried Wood. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. And afterwards! Sir John drew his cigar from his lips, and looked upwards where the white-lights flashed strangely amongst the deep cool green of the lime-trees. One did not use pistols against a female. No matter what the fire and force of his passion, it falters eventually, and forever after smoulders or goes out. \"Sure, I'd love to borrow some clothes for the night.
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