Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion. But it was only six-thirty. He was shifting to reach his own weapon, which had fallen in between the pews at the back. This person, whose age might be about forty, was attired in a brown double-breasted frieze coat, with very wide skirts, and a very narrow collar; a light drugget waistcoat, with pockets reaching to the knees; black plush breeches; grey worsted hose; and shoes with round toes, wooden heels, and high quarters, fastened by small silver buckles. Just as he had succeeded in fixing his attention, it was again shaken, and he was almost unnerved by the sight of Mr. I jumped then—I was not even shaken. She had warned him. You’ll be telling me Gerald did not catch you snooping at the Bicknacres, I suppose.
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