He said, "You're as plucky as Lorraine," and then his eyes shut again.

He was too ill to think much, and I kissed his head and left him.

After which I got stoutly into the dog-cart, and we drove back up the dreary hills down which Jem and I had run away.
That Snuffy was bland to cringing before my father did not give me hope that I should escape his direst revenge; and the expression of Lorraine's face showed me, by its sympathy, what _he_ expected.

But we were both wrong, and for reasons which we then knew nothing about.
Cruelty was, as I have said, Mr.Crayshaw's ruling passion, but it was not his only vice.

There was a whispered tradition that he had once been in jail for a misuse of his acquirements in the art of penmanship; and if you heard his name cropping up in the confidential conversation of such neighbours as small farmers, the postman, the parish overseer, and the like, it was sure to be linked with unpleasingly suggestive expressions, such as--"a dirty bit of business," "a nasty job that," "an awkward affair," "very near got into trouble," "a bit of bother about it, but Driver and Quills pulled him through; theirs isn't a nice business, and they're men of t' same feather as Crayshaw, so I reckon they're friends." Many such hints have I heard, for the 'White Lion' was next door to the sweet-shop, and in summer, refreshment of a sober kind, with conversation to match, was apt to be enjoyed on the benches outside.