There must be no renewal of this man's suit.

He must go.
It was Mary Ellen's wish to be driven quickly to the house, but she reckoned without the man.

With a sudden crunching of the wheels the buggy turned and spun swiftly on, headed directly away from home.
"I'll just take you a turn around the hill," said Franklin, "and then we'll go in." The "hill" was merely a swell of land, broken on its farther side by a series of _coulees_ that headed up to the edge of the eminence.

These deep wash-cuts dropped off toward the level of the little depression known as the Sinks of the White Woman River, offering a sharp drop, cut up by alternate knifelike ridges and deep gullies.
"It isn't the way home," said Mary Ellen.
"I can't help it," said Franklin.

"You are my prisoner.