In the reading-room were a few men occupied with newspapers or in chat.

In a corner, reading his favourite organ of 'free thought,' sat Luke Ackroyd.
Bower got his glass of spirits, brought it into the reading-room, and sat down by Ackroyd.
'So our friend Egremont's begun to get his books together,' he began.
'Has he ?' Luke was indifferent.

Of late he had entered upon a new phase of his mental trouble.

He was averse from conversation, shrank from his old companions, seemed to have resumed studious habits.

It had got about that he was going to marry Totty Nancarrow, but he refused to answer questions on the subject.