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“I think,” he said, “that I am right. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. To make sure work of it, I'll superintend the job myself. This circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour except that he endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting. “Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up. Besides, revenge is sweetened by delay; and I indulge too freely in the passion to rob it of any of its zest. You owe what I have done for you, to him, not to me.
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