The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. 260 “Can you turn me into one?” “Yes, I can turn you into one tonight. I trust that no unpleasant rumours will be circulated before the election, at any rate. Kneebone took his leave. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen. See paragraph 1. Couldn’t face me with what he’d done, the miserable blackguard.
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