He hesitated a little, and ended by taking the boots off, and walking backward and forward noiselessly.
All desire to sleep or to rest had left him.

The bare thought of lying down on the unoccupied bed instantly drew the picture on his mind of a dreadful mimicry of the position of the dead man.

Who was he?
What was the story of his past life?
Poor he must have been, or he would not have stopped at such a place as the Two Robins Inn; and weakened, probably, by long illness, or he could hardly have died in the manner which the landlord had described.

Poor, ill, lonely--dead in a strange place--dead, with nobody but a stranger to pity him.

A sad story; truly, on the mere face of it, a very sad story.
While these thoughts were passing through his mind, he had stopped insensibly at the window, close to which stood the foot of the bed with the closed curtains.