Endless complications ensue when both sisters return to London. “He just wants to get laid, you know. ‘You were his daughter. The cook tried to ply her with spiced meat and fish soup. Bought the freedom of a sing-song girl; and all the while you knew you'd have to tote the girl back. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. 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. Immediately beneath the pulpit stood a large circular pew where malefactors under sentence of death sat to hear the condemned sermon delivered to them, and where they formed a public spectacle to the crowds, which curiosity generally attracted on those occasions. ‘I don’t want that girl running her head into any more danger. She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face.
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