“You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. Better take these sandwiches. ” He threw the stone protecting the crypt to one side. Just a friendly polite suggestion. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. He looked eager and flushed and troubled. But don’t run away with the idea that I’m hanging out for a wife at last, because I’m not. 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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