Dickson would have tarried to inquire after the illness in the house, but his companion hurried him off.

Once he looked back, and saw the landlord still on the doorstep gazing after them.
"That fellow's a swine," said Mr.Heritage sourly.

"I wouldn't trust my neck in his pot-house.

Now, Dogson, I'm hanged if I'm going to leave this place.

We'll find a corner in the village somehow.