They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. Anna took up the pen, and signed, after a moment’s hesitation, A. She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which had carried the blot. Thanks. She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face. Taking hold of the hilt of his own foil, he drew it forth. Robbed of their prey, the fury of the mob became ungovernable. He filled the rôle of comrade which Spurlock dared not enact, at least not utterly as he would have liked.
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