Meanwhile, the mob outside had prodigiously increased, and had begun to exhibit some disposition to riot. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. ‘Sapristi,’ he shouted angrily. Baffled in their attempt, the mob uttered a roar, such as only a thousand angry voices can utter, and discharged a volley of missiles at the soldiery. " "How so?" asked Thames. “The horse’s knees are broken, and I am not sure that the man is sober. I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well. You aren’t afraid of thunder, are you?” He asked.
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