Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. Outside the door he turned and stared at the panels. In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. Stanley, standing up with a sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together. She is the wife now of another man.
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