Their heads touched again, their arms tightened. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. ’ He stopped suddenly, dismay creeping into his face. Rousing himself, he went to the door. “You know what? You’re right. No one is safe. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains. There you are, the best client’s chair. Feeling rather exhausted, it occurred to him that possibly some provisions might have been left by the constable; and, looking about, he perceived a pitcher of water and a small brown loaf on the floor.
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