Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. She discovered him sitting upon the floor beside his open trunk. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets. To be ill and helpless. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. Who’s for a rubber of whist?” Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in the evening. A question next arose whether the prisoner could be executed under the existing warrant,—some inclining to one opinion, some to another. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. CHAPTER XXVI.
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