"You don't mean to say--!" "Just made," said the tailor.

He dropped the garments at the feet of Graham, walked to the bed, on which Graham had so recently been lying, flung out the translucent mattress, and turned up the looking-glass.

As he did so a furious bell summoned the thickset man to the corner.

The man with the flaxen beard rushed across to him and then hurried out by the archway.
The tailor was assisting Graham into a dark purple combination garment, stockings, vest, and pants in one, as the thickset man came back from the corner to meet the man with the flaxen beard returning from the balcony.

They began speaking quickly in an undertone, their bearing had an unmistakable quality of anxiety.