I didn't at all know at first
what a tidy lot he had. He hated the Radbolts; even after he ceased to
know them as cousins, he remained very conscious of them always; they
were enemies, spies, secret service people on his track--poor old boy!
Well, why should they have him and his money? I didn't see it. I don't
see it to this day."
Mary was in Mr. Saffron's armchair. Beaumaroy stood before the fire. She
looked up at him.
"They seem to have more right than anybody else. And you know--you
knew--that he was mad."
"His being mad gives them no right! Oh, well, it's no use arguing. In the
end I suppose they had rights--of a kind; a right by law, I
suppose--though I never knew the law and don't want to--to shut the old
man up, and make him damned miserable, and get the money for themselves.
That sounds just the sort of right the law does give people over other
people--because Aunt Betsy married Uncle John fifty years ago, and was
probably infernally sorry for it!"
Mary smiled. "A matter of principle with you, was it, Mr. Beaumaroy?"
"No--instinct, I think.
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