He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. "I can escape to France. Yes. Petrified and speechless, he turned an imploring look at Wild, who was himself filled with astonishment at the pile of rubbish lying before him. So, by way of gaining time, he resolved to question him further. Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. This is my friend, Mr. Home!— which I never hoped to see again. The priceless things were gathered, the belongings packed. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it.
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