'" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. "Some one must have assisted him. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. “Yes, I remember,” she said. ‘How did you get in? The house is all locked up. “You blithering idiot!” he exclaimed.
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