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 himself so unreasonably. That he had suffered through women was probably his own fault. Vermont had no interest in him or his suf- ferings. One thing was certain: the world was not going to stand still even for a greater than Sir Digby Brenton. Nature herself must ultimately resent the sway of the despot even if she calls in death as a last resource.

“Tsn’t the condemnation somewhat sweep- ing?”

“I beg your pardon. Of course your case is exceptional.” He strode to the window and looked out. “Why the devil doesn’t that fool come with the cab! Are we far from civilisa- tion?”

“Perhaps nearer than you think.”

But the retort was lost on him. He was so obviously full of himself and his own thoughts that he had no room for the consideration of others. It was always thus with him. If the world did not stand still for his especial benefit it was not because it ought not, but because of some perverse influence which always seemed. to thwart him.

Vermont prayed fervently for the arrival of that cab. He dreaded to think that Androm-