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. "From that door," continued the thief-taker, pointing to the gloomy portal of the prison opposite which they were standing, "the condemned are taken to Tyburn. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. And I suppose it is too much to expect that any entirely English young lady would be prepared to tolerate me for the remainder of my life. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. "My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest. His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. “If you come a step nearer to me,” she said, “I will smash every glass on this table. Catch him, she begged silently. They seemed the most wrapped things in all Ann Veronica’s wrappered world.
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