This did not tickle his vanity; on the contrary, it enlivened his terror, which is a phase of fascination. Thames, look the door. What was his transport on perceiving that a few yards above him a light was burning. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. " "Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him.
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