" "Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him. Like most officers, he’d had it especially made, for a man who loved danger had need of a precision instrument of defence. Not at all. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. ‘Pitiful.
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