‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. He fondled her naked breasts with his fingers, then his mouth. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. He probably imagines himself to be a thousand times worse off than he actually is. He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor. "Won't you sit down?" "I beg your pardon! Come into the consultation office"; and the doctor led the way.
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