“Why, knowing no other squire in Westminster but yourself, with whom I could couple the allusion to Tyburn, I called for more drink and brought him to converse with me.”
“And—and—what?”
“He dwelt but in obscure hints,” continued Gray, “and at last dropped off into a drunken sleep, which smothered all his faculties.”
“And you heard no more?”
“No more.”
“’Tis not much.”
“Enough for apprehension,” suggested Gray.
“Ay; but not enough for action.”
“True—but you can think of it.”
“There is the curse! I can think of—thought is my hell!”