"Hilloa!" shouted Todd. "Air—air!"
"Air? Why what do you mean by gammoning a fellow in that sort o' way for, eh? Haven't you got lots o' air? Well, of all the unreasonable coves as ever I comed across, you is the worstest. Be quiet, will you?"
"No—no! Death—death! Give me the means of instant death. I am going mad—mad—mad!"
"Oh, no yer ain't. It's only yer first few hours in the stone-jug that has comed over you a little, that's all, old fellow. You'll soon pick up, and behave yourself like any other christian. All you have got to do is never to mind, and then it's nothink at all, old chap."
Clap went shut the little wicket door again.
"Help! Help!" shouted Todd. "Take these irons off me. It is only a dream after all. Back, back you grinning fiends—why do you look at me when you know that it is not real? No—no, it cannot be, you know that it cannot be real."
"Be quiet will you?" shouted the turnkey.
"Keep off, I say. All is well. Mrs. Lovett dead—quite dead. The boy to die too. The house in a blaze—all is well arranged. Why do you mock and joke at me?"
"Well, I never!" said the turnkey. "I do begin to think now that he's getting queer in the upper story. I have heard of its driving some of 'em mad to be bowled out when they didn't expect it, more 'special when it's a hanging affair. I wonder what he will say next? He's a regular rum un, he is."
"What have I done?" shouted Todd. "What have I done? Nothing—nothing. The dead tell no tales. All is safe—quite safe. The grave is a good secret keeper. I think Tobias is dead too—why not? Mrs. Lovett is dead. This is not Newgate. These are not chains. It is only the nightmare. Ha! ha! ha! It is only the nightmare—I can laugh now!"