"You'll find your score on the slate when you go downstairs.

I wouldn't have taken you in for all the money you've got about you if I'd known your dreaming, screeching ways beforehand.

Look at the bed.

Where's the cut of a knife in it?
Look at the window--is the lock bursted?
Look at the door (which I heard you fasten yourself)--is it broke in?
A murdering woman with a knife in my house! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" Isaac answered not a word.

He huddled on his clothes, and then they went downstairs together.
"Nigh on twenty minutes past two!" said the landlord, as they passed the clock.