Tell him you hate him. Tell him you
hate him!"
She bent forward and wept bitterly, while the sais, impassive, went forward to
hold the horse. Mrs. Vansuythen turned scarlet and dropped the reins. She
wished to be no party to such unholy explanations.
"I've nothing to do with it," she began, coldly; but Mrs. Boulte's sobs
overcame her, and she addressed herself to the man. "I don't know what I am to
say, Captain Kurrell. I don't know what I can call you. I think you've--you've
behaved abominably, and she has cut her forehead terribly against the table."
"It doesn't hurt. It isn't anything," said Mrs. Boulte feebly. "That doesn't
matter. Tell him what you told me. Say you don't care for him. Oh, Ted, won't
you believe her?"
"Mrs. Boulte has made me understand that you were--that you were fond of her
once upon a time," went on Mrs. Vansuythen.
"Well!" said Kurrell brutally. "It seems to me that Mrs. Boulte had better be
fond of her own husband first."
"Stop!" said Mrs. Vansuythen. "Hear me first. I don't care--I don't want to
know anything about you and Mrs. Boulte; but I want you to know that I hate
you, that I think you are a cur, and that I'll never, never speak to you
again. Oh, I don't dare to say what I think of you, you--man!
_Sais,_gorah_ko_jane_do_.
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