“Done, Mr. Hartright!” he announced with a self-renovating thump of his fist on his broad breast. “Done, to my own profound satisfaction⁠—to your profound astonishment, when you read what I have written. The subject is exhausted: the man⁠—Fosco⁠—is not. I proceed to the arrangement of my slips⁠—to the revision of my slips⁠—to the reading of my slips⁠—addressed emphatically to your private ear. Four o’clock has just struck. Good! Arrangement, revision, reading, from four to five. Short snooze of restoration for myself from five to six. Final preparations from six to seven. Affair of agent and sealed letter from seven to eight. At eight, en route . Behold the programme!”