"Dying, Sir Rowland. Once they were on the move, Kimble seemed to find strength from somewhere. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. ” Again on his way homeward from Cavendish Square he abandoned the direct route to pass by the door of Anna’s flat. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. Wood's ornaments and wearing apparel, they prepared to depart.
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