Let the company shake hands, and
all go away but two.
The two who have remained (it is discovered on inquiry) are Mr. Torrance
and his boy; so let us make use of them. Torrance did not linger in
order to be chosen, he was anxious, like all of them, to be off; but we
recognised him, and sternly signed to him to stay. Not that we knew him
personally, but the fact is, we remembered him (we never forget a face)
as the legal person who reads out the names of the jury before the court
opens, and who brushes aside your reasons for wanting to be let off. It
pleases our humour to tell Mr. Torrance that we cannot let him off.
He does not look so formidable as when last we saw him, and this is
perhaps owing to our no longer being hunched with others on those
unfeeling benches. It is not because he is without a wig, for we saw
him, on the occasion to which we are so guardedly referring, both in a
wig and out of it; he passed behind a screen without it, and immediately
(as quickly as we write) popped out in it, giving it a finishing touch
rather like the butler's wriggle to his coat as he goes to the door.
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