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You understand my idea, of course; explanations are superfluous." I assented mutely, scarce knowing why I did so. "Now, hear another." And the woods rang with his clear, sonorous accents as he declaimed, a little too scanningly, perhaps too much like an enthusiastic boy: "Love lurks upon my lady's lip, His bow is figured there; Within her eyes his arrows sleep; His fetters are her hair!"
Jacob looked up into his face scanningly for a moment or two, and apparently arriving at his conclusions, said gravely "I'll shwop," handing the cork-screw knife to Deronda, who pocketed it with corresponding gravity.
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