‘Jarvis Remenham was your mother’s father. 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. “You’ll have to take her!” shouted an inspector on horseback, and she echoed his cry: “You’ll have to take me!” They seized upon her and lifted her, and she screamed. “If I thought for a moment that there was any chance of a relapse, I should stop here and tell him the truth even now. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. . He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel.
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