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Updated: May 24, 2025
From a great distance Davray's words came to him, and in the dialogue that followed he spoke like a somnambulist. "Yes," he said, "my name's Brandon." "I knew, of course," said Davray. "I've seen you about." He spoke with great swiftness, the words tumbling over one another, not with eagerness, but rather with a kind of supercilious carelessness. "Beastly hole, isn't this?
It was those last words of Davray's that rang in his ears: "You're one of us now. You're one of us." Drunkard and wastrel though the man was, those words could not be forgotten, would never be forgotten again. With his head up, his shoulders back, he returned to his house. The maid met him in the hall. "There's a man waiting for you in the study, sir." "Who is it?" "Mr. Samuel Hogg, sir."
Brandon answered: "I have no quarrel with you, Mr. Davray. Nor have I anything to say to you." "No quarrel? I like that. I'd knock your face in for two-pence, you blasted hypocrite. And I will too. All free ground here." Davray's voice was shrill. He was swaying on his legs. The woman looked up from the fire and watched them.
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