apoplectic fit. Taking him by the shoulder I sent him spinning off the pavement.
"Leave him alone. The fellow will get his deserts elsewhere."
Lawrence clapped his hands like a child.
"Bravo! Twirl him round—roll him in the mud! She enjoys it; can't you hear how she's laughing?"
He raised his hand in an attitude of attention.
"I can hear nothing."
"But I can." Miss Moore spoke from behind my shoulder. "I can hear It."
"What do you mean?"
"It which was present in the room; It which did it all; the sound which we heard in the Fulham Road just now. Listen! Can't you hear it, too?"
It might have been my imagination—probably was—but, as she spoke, I certainly did think that I recognised, as if it issued from the lips of some one who was within reach of where we stood, the woman's laughter which had in it so singular and disagreeable a quality. It had on me a most uncomfortable effect. I returned to Lawrence, fearful lest, if I was not careful, the proceedings might take a shape in which I might relish them less even than I did at present.
"Come. Let's be moving."
"With pleasure. Life is movement, and exercise is the thing for the liver."
