Clinging on with your nails, setting your teeth."
Peter was surprised at the man's earnestness. The two of them sitting there
in that lonely deserted little conservatory were instantly aware of some
common experience.
Maradick put his hand on Peter's knee.
"Westcott, you're young, but I know the kind of thing you mean. Believe
me that it's no silly nonsense to talk of the Devil--the Devil is as real
and personal as you and I, and he's got his agents in every sort and kind
of place. If he once gets his net out for you then you'll want all your
courage. I know," he went on sinking his voice, "there was a time I had
once in Cornwall when I was brought pretty close to things of that sort--it
doesn't leave you the same afterwards. There's a place down in Cornwall
called Treliss...."
"Treliss!" Peter almost shouted. "Why that's where I come from. I was born
there--that's my town--"
Before Maradick could reply Bobby Galleon burst into the conservatory. "Oh,
there you are--I've been looking for you everywhere. How are you, Maradick?
Look here, Peter, you've got to come down to supper with us. We've got a
table--Alice, Clare, Millicent, Percival, Tony Gale and his wife and you
and I--and--one other--an old friend of yours, Peter."
"An old friend?" said Peter, getting up from his chair and trying to look
as though he were not furious with Bobby for the interruption.
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