‘Oh, are there? You are not quite alone in these adventures of yours, I take it. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. He smiled at Ruth as she turned away from the bed, smiled with both his mouth and eyes; and she knew that here would be a man of heart as well as of science. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. They were filthy after the burial.
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