" The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but with alert blue eyes and a gentle mouth. I was being stupid. And now let's go back to the Shovels, and finish our brandewyn and bier, Muntmeester. The bump was coarse and didn’t feel right. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. And mind you don't arouse his suspicions.
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