The Night-Cellar XVIII. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. I can’t even make myself care. She described the Goopes and the Fabians to him, and gave him a sketch of her landlady; and he talked in the most liberal and entertaining way of a modern young woman’s outlook. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. In spite of his shrieks, the miserable Jew was then dragged into the wellhole, and the rope being tied round his neck, he was launched from the bridge. Nicholas had not dared to tell his father about the Valade girl. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told.
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