They struck her as cold and indifferent. His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box. But at the beginning of the affray, when he thought every one was too much occupied with his own concerns to remark his absence, he slipped out of the room, not for the purpose of avoiding the engagement (for cowardice was not one of his failings), but because he had another object in view. Tears began to stream from her cheeks. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. 47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door.
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