A cloud passed across his face and left it pale.
"Of course," he said simply, and went over and touched the heaving shoulders reflectively.

"Poor Soolsby!" "He's been sober four years--over four," she said eagerly.

"When he knew you'd come again, he got wild, and he would have the drink in spite of all.

Walking from Heddington, I saw him at the tavern, and brought him home." "At the tavern--" David said reflectively.
"The Fox and Goose, sir." She turned her face away again, and David's head came up with a quick motion.

There it was, five years ago, that he had drunk at the bar, and had fought Jasper Kimber.
"Poor fellow!" he said again, and listened to Soolsby's stertorous breathing, as a physician looks at a patient whose case he cannot control, does not wholly understand.
The hand of the sleeping man was suddenly raised, his head gave a jerk, and he said mumblingly: "Claridge for ever!" Kate nervously intervened.