Black. Day time! day is night if no one sees. He’s gone to the Blake’s Head.
Ash. Aye, I never pass the door, but my heart beats and my knees tremble.
Black. What! hav’n’t eighteen years cured you of that trick?
Ash. Cured me—that bag of money—that bag—’twas the first thing that turned me from the paths of honesty and grievously have I wandered since.
Black. Still whining, still complaining, what good could the money do to the dead?
Ash. And what good has it done us? but let’s not talk about it.
Black. That’s right, and now listen to me. We must have a peep into that portmanteau.
Ash. Impossible!
Black. Not so, we’ll to the Inn: where can Grayling be?
Ash. Not far off I warrant.