. CHAPTER VII The astonishing collapse of Spurlock created a tableau of short duration. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. It was late before Jonathan ventured to his own house, where he remained up all night, and kept his janizaries and other assistants well armed.
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