’ ‘Do not make a game with me,’ she interrupted, gripping her underlip firmly between her teeth to stop the threatening laughter. They had scarcely gained the adjoining cellar when Jonathan and the Jew rushed past in the direction of the vault. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. And the grotesquest fact was that she did not so much loathe, as experience with a quite critical condemnation this strange sensation of being kissed. Anna was sitting before the fire a little distance from him—Ennison himself remained standing. .
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