The Bishop, however, to show him the danger of meddling with the church, gave him a dance at Tyburn for his pains. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely.
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