You heard him yourselves to-night.

Well, he has always answered me like that.

My sister thinks that I am going mad.
Sometimes I think that I am myself.

And now--and now I am myself a branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which I sold my character.

God help me! God help me!" He burst into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.
There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and by the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes' finger-tips upon the edge of the table.