It was not only that I could have summed up years and years and years while he said a dozen words, but that what he did say presented pictures to me, and not mere words.  In the excited and exalted state of my brain, I could not think of a place without seeing it, or of persons without seeing them.  It is impossible to over-state the vividness of these images, and yet I was so intent, all the time, upon him himself — who would not be intent on the tiger crouching to spring! — that I knew of the slightest action of his fingers.

When he had drunk this second time, he rose from the bench on which he sat, and pushed the table aside.  Then, he took up the candle, and shading it with his murderous hand so as to throw its light on me, stood before me, looking at me and enjoying the sight.

“Wolf, I’ll tell you something more.  It was Old Orlick as you tumbled over on your stairs that night.”

I saw the staircase with its extinguished lamps.  I saw the shadows of the heavy stair-rails, thrown by the watchman’s lantern on the wall.  I saw the rooms that I was never to see again; here, a door half open; there, a door closed; all the articles of furniture around.

“And why was Old Orlick there?  I’ll tell you something more, wolf.  You and her have pretty well hunted me out of this country, so far as getting a easy living in it goes, and I’ve took up with new companions, and new masters.  Some of ’em writes my letters when I wants ’em wrote — do you mind? — writes my letters, wolf!  They writes fifty hands; they’re not like sneaking you, as writes but one.  I’ve had a firm mind and a firm will to have your life, since you was down here at your sister’s burying.  I han’t seen a way to get you safe, and I’ve looked arter you to know your ins and outs.  For, says Old Orlick to himself, ’Somehow or another I’ll have him!’ What!  When I looks for you, I finds your uncle Provis, eh?”

Mill Pond Bank, and Chinks’s Basin, and the Old Green Copper Rope-Walk, all so clear and plain!  Provis in his rooms, the signal whose use was over, pretty Clara, the good motherly woman, old Bill Barley on his back, all drifting by, as on the swift stream of my life fast running out to sea!

“You with a uncle too!  Why, I know’d you at Gargery’s when you was so small a wolf that I could have took your weazen betwixt this finger and thumb and chucked you away dead (as I’d thoughts o’ doing, odd times, when I see you loitering amongst the pollards on a Sunday), and you hadn’t found no uncles then.  No, not you!  But when Old Orlick come for to hear that your uncle Provis had mostlike wore the leg-iron wot Old Orlick had picked up, filed asunder, on these meshes ever so many year ago, and wot he kep by him till he dropped your sister with it, like a bullock, as he means to drop you — hey? — when he come for to hear that — hey?—­”

In his savage taunting, he flared the candle so close at me, that I turned my face aside, to save it from the flame.