He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. ’ Pottiswick sucked at his teeth through the gaps. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. Do not slight my warning. All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual.
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