They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. ‘Be quiet, man,’ snapped Hilary, watching the Frenchman go by with the lad after him. "But, where's the strange gentleman I saw under the table?" "Under the table!" echoed Blueskin, winking at Jack. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. He seemed to have expected them. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face.
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