He leaned against the wall, and, folding his arms, resigned himself to reverie.

He gazed upon the countenance of Watson, but his looks denoted his attention to be elsewhere employed.
As to me, my state will not be easily described.

My eye roved fearfully from one object to another.

By turns it was fixed upon the murdered person and the murderer.

The narrow cell in which we stood, its rudely-fashioned walls and arches, destitute of communication with the external air, and its palpable dark scarcely penetrated by the rays of a solitary candle, added to the silence which was deep and universal, produced an impression on my fancy which no time will obliterate.
Perhaps my imagination was distempered by terror.