Mr. Dolls now struck out the highly unexpected discovery that he had been insulted by Lightwood, and stated his desire to “have it out with him” on the spot, and defied him to come on, upon the liberal terms of a sovereign to a halfpenny. Mr. Dolls then fell a crying, and then exhibited a tendency to fall asleep. This last manifestation as by far the most alarming, by reason of its threatening his prolonged stay on the premises, necessitated vigorous measures. Eugene picked up his worn-out hat with the tongs, clapped it on his head, and, taking him by the collar⁠—all this at arm’s length⁠—conducted him downstairs and out of the precincts into Fleet Street. There, he turned his face westward, and left him.

When he got back, Lightwood was standing over the fire, brooding in a sufficiently low-spirited manner.

“I’ll wash my hands of Mr. Dolls physically⁠—” said Eugene, “and be with you again directly, Mortimer.”