Then, in perfectly good taste, but with great diffidence, he spoke of Duane's bereavement.
For a little while they asked and answered those amiably formal questions convention requires under similar circumstances; then Duane spoke of Dysart gravely, because new rumours were rife concerning him, even a veiled hint of possible indictment and arrest.
"I hope not," said Grandcourt, his heavy features becoming troubled; "he is a broken man, and no court and jury can punish him more severely than he has been punished.

Nor do I know what they could get out of him.

He has nothing left; everything he possessed has been turned over.

He sits all day in a house that is no longer his, doing nothing, hoping nothing, hearing nothing, except the childish babble of his old father or the voices from the hall below, where his servants are fighting off reporters and cranks and people with grievances.

Oh, I tell you, Duane, it's pitiable, all right!" "There was a rumour yesterday of his suicide," said Duane in a low voice.