‘Can’t see a thing. 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. Advancing towards the Master, and claiming an audience, which was instantly granted, Jonathan, without much circumlocution, related the sum of the strange story he had just learnt from Wood, omitting nothing except a few trifling particulars, which he thought it politic to keep back; and, with this view, he said not a word of there being any probability of capturing the fugitive, but, on the contrary, roundly asserted that his informant had witnessed that person's escape. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. After knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the latch, and to his surprise found it open. (“No, no. You don’t understand the fix I am in. He was not there. Your family has not sullied itself by dabbling in it, at least not 173 from what I know, so now is not the time to begin. She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing.
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