A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. Except he was the only idiot who would stay. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. ” He did not move. When they came to the round-house, Terry's courage failed him. He believes that he is leaving this conscience behind; and I want to watch his disillusion on this particular point. Your face has flitted out of my watch-fire, and then I have been a haunted man.
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