I say he's stamping me down into hell--damn him!"
"Restrain yourself, Barry, my dear boy, remember Mr. Beverley is our
guest--"
"Restrain myself--yes, Dig, yes. B-beg Mr. Beverley's pardon for me,
Dig. Not myself to-day,--but must restrain myself--certainly. Give
me some more brandy--ha! and pass bottle to Mr. Bev'ley, Dig. No,
sir? Ah well, help yourself, Dig. Must forgive exhibition of feeling,
sir, but I always do get carried away when I remember that inhuman
monster--God's curse on him!"
"Sir," said Barnabas, "whom do you mean?"
"Mean? ha! ha! oh damme, hark to that, Dig! Dev'lish witty I call
that--oh c-cursed rich! Whom do I mean? Why," cried Barrymaine,
starting up from the couch, "whom should I mean but Gaunt! Gaunt!
Gaunt!" and he shook his clenched fists passionately in the air. Then,
as suddenly he turned upon Barnabas with a wild, despairing gesture,
and stretching out his arms, pointed to each wrist in turn.
"D'ye see 'em?" he cried, "d'ye hear 'em; jangle? No? Ah, but they
_are_ there! riveted on, never to come off, eating deeper into my
flesh every day! I'm shackled, I tell you,--fettered hand and foot.
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