‘Speak, then. I hope that you did not permit her to feed?” “But I did! I did!” She sobbed. " "I can't. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. "You frighten the cull out of his senses. 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.
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