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"Donal Grant, by George MacDonald"

The youth glared
at him, unable to speak for fury, then turned, caught up a chair,
and rushed at him. One twist of Donal's ploughman-hand wrenched it
from him. He threw it over his head upon the bed, and stood
motionless and silent, waiting till his rage should subside. In a
few moments his eye began to quail, and he went back to his seat.
"Now, my lord," said Donal, following his example and sitting down,
"will you hear me?"
"I'll be damned if I do!" he answered, flaring up again at the first
sound of Donal's voice.
"I'm afraid you'll be damned if you don't," returned Donal.
His lordship took the undignified expedient of thrusting his fingers
in his ears. Donal sat quiet until he removed them. But the moment
he began to speak he thrust them in again. Donal rose, and seizing
one of his hands by the wrist, said,
"Be careful, my lord; if you drive me to extremity, I will speak so
that the house shall hear me; if that will not do, I go straight to
your father."
"You are a spy and a sneak!"
"A man who behaves like you, should have no terms held with him."
The youth broke out in a fresh passion. Donal sat waiting till the
futile outburst should be over. It was presently exhausted, the
rage seeming to go out for want of fuel. Nor did he again stop his
ears against the truth he saw he was doomed to hear.
"I am come," said Donal, "to ask your lordship whether the course
you are pursuing is not a dishonourable one.


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