When you ride, I walk; when I ride, you walk--you understand? We don't
walk or ride together. I'm taking care of you. Your life is too good to
be ruined by rashness. You're in a 'state,' as my old housekeeper would
say, but you'll be all right presently. As soon as I've made a salad,
and had a marrowbone, you and I and Patsy Kernaghan are going to Nolan
Doyle's ranch. . . . My dear, you must do what I say, and if you do,
you'll be happy yet. I don't see how, quite, but it is so; and
meanwhile, you mustn't make any mistakes. You must play the game.
And now come and have some supper."
She waved her hand in protest. "I can't eat," she said. "Indeed, I
can't."
"Well, you can drink," he answered. "You shall not leave this house
alive unless you have a pint of milk with a little dash of what Patsy
calls 'oh-be-joyful' in it."
He left the room for a moment, while she sat watching the door as a
prisoner might watch for the return of a friendly jailer. He had a
curious influence over her.
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