No.
Harold, who until now had stood as stiffly as a birch-tree, began to move about the room. Presently, he laughed.
So, he said, she's clean. They're all clean: Paul, and Bunny, and Ronald, compared with my own wife, my own father.
Harold!
You've tricked me: Your father, my father, you. At last I understand what Aunt Sadi meant in her letter. It doesn't matter. Only this—he grasped her shoulders firmly and held her at arm's length—only this, you can tell my father that I'm going straight back where he sent me!
Harold!
Straight back. They're clean. They didn't know what it was all about, but they were natural and real while all you rotters have been playing parts.
Harold, you can't mean what you're saying!
I haven't even begun to say what I mean! He threw her roughly back against the settle, relinquishing his hold on her shoulders. I'm through.
He crossed the room in great strides and rushed out through the door. Her screams rang in his ears as he staggered off across the dunes, black in the night, stumbling, falling even, in the deep sand. There was a distant rumble of thunder, faint flashes of lightning. A storm was arising over the sea.
