“I am sorry,” he said slowly. ’ Kimble gaped at her and Melusine struggled to pull herself out of the shock. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. The ruse succeeded almost beyond his expectation. Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces of things. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes.
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