I'm eigh-ty-seven. Eigh-ty-seven!"
The drivelling, pitiable manner in which, as he repeated this, he
nibbled at the leaves, and spat the morsels out; the cold,
uninterested eye with which his youngest son (so changed) regarded
him; the determined apathy with which his eldest son lay hardened
in his sin; impressed themselves no more on Redlaw's observation, -
for he broke his way from the spot to which his feet seemed to have
been fixed, and ran out of the house.
His guide came crawling forth from his place of refuge, and was
ready for him before he reached the arches.
"Back to the woman's?" he inquired.
"Back, quickly!" answered Redlaw. "Stop nowhere on the way!"
For a short distance the boy went on before; but their return was
more like a flight than a walk, and it was as much as his bare feet
could do, to keep pace with the Chemist's rapid strides. Shrinking
from all who passed, shrouded in his cloak, and keeping it drawn
closely about him, as though there were mortal contagion in any
fluttering touch of his garments, he made no pause until they
reached the door by which they had come out. He unlocked it with
his key, went in, accompanied by the boy, and hastened through the
dark passages to his own chamber.
The boy watched him as he made the door fast, and withdrew behind
the table, when he looked round.
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