For a moment, Kneebone had hesitated about giving the signal to Shotbolt, but, thinking a more favourable opportunity might occur, he determined not to hazard matters by undue precipitation. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. But one was clearly the goddess among them, her face hidden, her body seeming to call out to me to possess it at once. “For Heaven’s sake, Dunster, don’t let her out of the carriage, or hansom, or whatever she came in. "Well, you women are forgiving creatures, I must say," observed Jonathan, sarcastically.
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