Man, dinna
touch 't. For God's sake, for yer mither's sake, for _ony_ sake, dinna
lat a drap o' the hell-broth gang ower yer thrapple--or ye're damned
like me for ever and ever. It's as guid's signin' awa' yer sowl wi' yer
ain han' and yer ain blude."
Mr Cupples lifted his glass, emptied it, and, setting it down on the
table with a gesture of hatred, proceeded to fill it yet again.
CHAPTER LXXI.
"I say, Forbes, you keep yourself all to yourself and old Cupples, away
there in the new town. Come and take some supper with me to-night. It's
my birthday, old boy."
"I don't do much in that way, you know, Gibby."
"Oh yes, I know. You're never jolly but amongst the shell-fish. At
least that's what the Venall thinks of you. But for once in a way you
might come."
"Well, I don't mind," said Alec, really not caring what came to him or
of him, and glad of anything to occupy him with no-thinking. "When
shall I come?"
"At seven. We'll have a night of it. To-morrow's Saturday."
It was hardly worth while to go home. He would not dine to-day. He
would go and renew his grief by the ever-grieving sea. For his was a
young love, and his sorrow was interesting to him: he embalmed his
pangs in the amber of his consciousness.
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