He was as dreary and as lean as ever. His eyes had not lost their old
trick (so subtly noticed in Betteredge's NARRATIVE) of "looking as if
they expected something more from you than you were aware of yourself."
But, so far as dress can alter a man, the great Cuff was changed beyond
all recognition. He wore a broad-brimmed white hat, a light shooting
jacket, white trousers, and drab gaiters. He carried a stout oak stick.
His whole aim and object seemed to be to look as if he had lived in the
country all his life. When I complimented him on his Metamorphosis,
he declined to take it as a joke. He complained, quite gravely, of the
noises and the smells of London. I declare I am far from sure that he
did not speak with a slightly rustic accent! I offered him breakfast.
The innocent countryman was quite shocked. HIS breakfast hour was
half-past six--and HE went to bed with the cocks and hens!
"I only got back from Ireland last night," said the Sergeant, coming
round to the practical object of his visit, in his own impenetrable
manner. "Before I went to bed, I read your letter, telling me what has
happened since my inquiry after the Diamond was suspended last year.
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