Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price. Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression. From this perturbed state he was roused by thoughts of his mother, and fancying he heard her gentle voice urging him on to fresh exertion, he started up. I don’t defend it. I’m not mad that he has eyes for you instead of me, not mad at all.
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