Present illness accounted perhaps for the latter
symptoms; but, from that glimpse of him in Norton Folgate, Gammon
had known that he was much aged and shaken. Hat, overcoat, and
muffler had partly disguised what was now evident. He spoke with the
accent of an educated man, and in the tone of one whom nature has
endowed with amiable qualities. The bottle beside him seemed to
explain certain peculiarities of his manner. When he had drunk
thirstily he raised himself to a sitting posture, and nodded to his
visitor an invitation to take a chair.
"I'm here, you see, Gammon. Here at last."
"Why did you come?"
"Why?--ah, why indeed!"
Having sighed out this ejaculation he seemed to grow absent, to
forget that he was not alone. A violent cough shook him into
wakefulness again; he stared at Gammon with red eyes full of pain
and fear, and said thickly:
"Are you an honest man--you?
"Well, I hope so; try to be."
"What's his name? You know him, don't you?"
"Do you mean Greenacre?" asked Gammon, feeling very uncomfortable,
for the man before him looked like one who struggles for his last
breath.
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