And, without another word, he seized the table with both hands, and upset it; scattering plates, dishes, bottles, jugs, and glasses far and wide. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic. If I did not love you en désespoir, I would assuredly blow off your head. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. “Why can’t we propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!. A queer game this: he could not move directly as in an ordinary case of manhunt.
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