I marvel!" "Take me away, my lord," Hortensia begged him, touching his arm.
"Aye, we were best away," said the earl, drawing her to him.

Then he flung a hand out at Rotherby in a gesture of repudiation, of anathema.
"But 'tis not the end on't for you, you knave! What I threatened, I will perform.

I'll disinherit you.

Not a penny of mine shall come to you.

Ye shall starve for aught I care; starve, and--and--the world be well rid of a villain.