And then those accursed dreams: he was not relieved as he expected by disclosing them.

The sense of an ominous meaning pointing at him in all their grotesque images and scenery, still haunted him.
'Parson Walsingham, with all his reading,' his mind muttered, as it were, to itself, 'is no better than an old woman; and that knave and buffoon, Mr.Apothecary Toole, looked queer, the spiteful dog, just to disquiet me.

I wonder at Dr.Walsingham though.

A sensible man would have laughed me into spirits.

On my soul, I think he believes in dreams.' And Sturk laughed within himself scornfully.