But at the word “home” she turned again. While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. His father spoke for him. "Not I," replied Blueskin. But he seized the chance to entrap her fingers, fan and all, and look deeply into her eyes. The latter appeared to contain several papers, which Jack carefully put by, in the hope that they might turn out of importance in a scheme of vengeance which he meditated against the thief-taker. Something he saw there made him feel for a moment ashamed. “I think she would,” she decided. “Well, look who’s here! Welcome, Lucy, I heard the performance was spectacular. The occasion of all this confusion and dismay, meanwhile, remained perfectly motionless; his figure erect, and with somewhat of dignity in his demeanour. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements.
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