Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. If I did not love you en désespoir, I would assuredly blow off your head. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. \"May I come in?\" His bravado was increasing. She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry. She wedged the towel between her legs. She silently willed him to stop his pacing, to calm down. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. Now you can understand why I have been obliged to——” “Yes, yes, I understand that,” Courtlaw interrupted. “Hey, Mike. “You frighten me!” He smiled at her indulgently.
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