He turned his melancholy face to the window; he put his lanky hands into his pockets; and he whistled "The Last Rose of Summer" softly to himself.
At last, Samuel came in, not with the keys, but with a morsel of paper for me.

I got at my spectacles, with some fumbling and difficulty, feeling the Sergeant's dismal eyes fixed on me all the time.

There were two or three lines on the paper, written in pencil by my lady.

They informed me that Miss Rachel flatly refused to have her wardrobe examined.

Asked for her reasons, she had burst out crying.