Cursing himself for his inertness, Jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in earnest. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. ‘Open the door, fool!’ Then he had Melusine by the shoulders and was hustling her into the hackney. “Just hope that the ground doesn’t shift and unearth them. “But it’s a long business. I had no curiosity of that kind. “I said that at the Zoo, and I mean it.
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