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But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. ‘Bête. In this state, he was laid upon a bench, to sleep off his drunken fit, while his wretched mother, in spite of her passionate supplications and resistance, was, by Blueskin's command, forcibly ejected from the house, and driven out of the Mint. ’ She shrugged. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. “You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice.
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