Awkwardly, he closed his eyes and fumbled for a kiss. "So, you're admiring my cabinet, Sir Rowland," he remarked, with a sinister smile; "it is generally admired; and, sometimes by parties who afterwards contribute to the collection themselves,—ha! ha! This skull," he added, pointing to a fragment of mortality in the case beside them, "once belonged to Tom Sheppard, the father of the lad I spoke of just now. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered.
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