I've played in 'Amlet, yer honour, along with Octavius Bumpus's travellin' theatre, and I can nail a made-up livin' ghost in a minnit; but this ghost didn't look made up.

There was no blood, yer honour; she looked as if she 'ad bin waccinated forty times." "And were the movements of her legs and arms natural ?" "No j'ints, Master Blake.

She looked like a wooden figger without proper j'ints! Perhaps she 'ad a few wire pins in her 'natomy; but no j'ints proper." "So you believe in this ghost ?" "Can't help it, yer honour." "Simon, I don't.

There's some deep-laid scheme on foot somewhere; and I think I can guess who's working it." Simon started.

"You don't think that 'ere waccinatin', sumnamblifyin' willain 'ev got the thing in 'and ?" I didn't speak, but looked keenly at him.
At first he did nothing but stare vacantly, but presently a look of intelligence flashed into his eyes.