I pray Dr.
Griffiths may come.' Fleetwood shuffled a step.

'He will come, he will come.' The mother and some women now packed the room.
A gabble arose between them and Edwards.

They fired sharp snatches of speech, and they darted looks at the lady and her lord.
'They do not know!' said Carinthia.
Gower brought her news that the dog had been killed; Martha and her precious burden were outside, a mob of men, too.

He was not alarmed; but she went to the door and took her babe in her arms, and when the women observed the lady holding her own little one, their looks were softened.
At a hint of explanation from Edwards, the guttural gabble rattled up to the shrill vowels.
Fleetwood's endurance broke short.

The packed small room, the caged-monkey lingo, the wailful child, and the past and apprehended debate upon the burning of flesh, composed an intolerable torture.