The story of his pure soul was exactly what Mr. Attorney-General had described it to be-perhaps, if it had a fault, a little too exactly.
Having released his noble bosom of its burden, he would have modestly withdrawn himself, but that the wigged gentleman with the papers before him, sitting not far from Mr. Lorry, begged to ask him a few questions.
The wigged gentleman sitting opposite, still looking at the ceiling of the court.
Had he ever been a spy himself? No, he scorned the base insinuation.
What did he live upon? His property.
Where was his property? He didn't precisely remember where it was.
What was it? No business of anybody's.
Had he inherited it? Yes, he had.
From whom? Distant relation.
Very distant? Rather.