Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. "One of us has got to die," he panted. From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. As it happens sometimes, the idea stepped down from the dream into the reality; and he saw it more clearly now than he had seen it in the dream. It probably still wouldn’t help. Gerald frowned.
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