How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral 435 XXVII. “I had the pleasure of—er—meeting you more than once, I believe. I was standing near Jack at that awful moment, and beheld the look Wild fixed on him. So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight. ‘You do not like it?’ ‘That is hardly the point. ’ ‘Not until you release that dagger. It consisted of a full-dress coat of brown flowered velvet, laced with silver; a waistcoat of white satin, likewise richly embroidered; shoes with red heels, and large diamond buckles; pearlcoloured silk stockings with gold clocks; a muslin cravat, or steen-kirk, as it was termed, edged with the fine point lace; ruffles of the same material, and so ample as almost to hide the tips of his fingers; and a silver-hilted sword. The newcomer stopped short upon the threshold. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf.
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