Damme, I'm man enough to manage my own
affairs, what's left of 'em. I want nobody's accursed pity
either--pah!" and he made a gesture of repudiation so fierce that he
staggered and recovered himself only by clutching at Mr. Smivvle's
ready arm. "The Past, sir," said he, supporting himself by that
trusty arm, "the Past is done with, and the F-Future I'll face alone,
as I have done all along, eh, Dig?"
"But surely--"
"Ay, surely, sir, I'm no object of charity whining for alms, no, by
Gad! I--I'm--Dig, push the brandy!"
"If you would but listen--" Barnabas began again.
"Not--not a word. Why should I? Past's dead, and damn the Future. Dig,
pass the brandy."
"And I tell you," said Barnabas, "that in the future are hope and
the chance of a new life, once you are free of Gaunt."
"Free of Gaunt! Hark to that, Dig. Must be dev'lish drunk to talk
such cursed f-folly! Why, I tell you again," he cried in rising
passion, "that I couldn't get free of Gaunt's talons even if I had
the money, and mine's all gone long ago, and half Cleone's beside,
--her Guardian's tied up the rest. She can't touch another penny
without his consent, damn him!--so I'm done.
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