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. She resolved to walk across the Park to the Zoological gardens, and so on by way of Primrose Hill to Hampstead Heath. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. ” Part 4 It was not Ann Veronica’s fault that the night’s work should have taken upon itself the forms of wild burlesque. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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