"No!" she cried. "I'll tell you," replied Jack, with forced calmness. His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers. Here lay a heap of knockers of all sizes, from the huge lion's head to the small brass rapper: there, a collection of sign-boards, with the names and calling of the owners utterly obliterated. Turning, she heaved at the bottom door and slammed it in his face just as he came leaping forward to grab her. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. Well, I told aunt.
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