He's safe enough now. Prudence? Mr Remenham’s sister that was. 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. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand.
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