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Benson, Robert Hugh, 1871-1914

"Come Rack! Come Rope!"


"You have come to search my house, sir?" she asked. Her voice was as
colourless as her features.
"My commission, mistress, compels me--"
Then he noticed that the doors into the hall had been pushed open, and
that she was moving towards them. And he thought he understood.
"Stand back, men," he barked, so fiercely that they recoiled. "This lady
shall speak with me first."
* * * * *
He passed up the hall after her. He was as unhappy as possible. He
wondered what she could have to say to him; she must surely understand
that no pleading could turn him; he must do his duty. Yet he would
certainly do this with as little offence as he could.
"Mistress Manners--" he began.
Then she turned on him again. They were at the further end of the hall,
and could speak low without being overheard.
"You must begone again," she whispered. "Oh! you must begone again. You
do not understand; you--"
Her eyes still burned with that terrible eloquence; it was as the face
of one on the rack.
"Mistress, I cannot begone again. I must do my duty. But I promise
you--"
She was close to him, staring into his face; he could feel the heat of
her breath on his face.
"You must begone at once," she whispered, still in that voice of agony.
He saw her begin to sway on her feet and her eyes turn glassy. He caught
her as she swayed.
"Here! you women!" he cried.
* * * * *
It was all that he could do to force himself out through the crowd of
folks that looked on him.


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