What he there noticed occasioned a marked change in his demeanour. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. And nowhere could I obtain the slightest information. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. And he liked her. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been.
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