“To be sure! Yes.

You're in the habit of shaking hands?”

I was rather confused, thinking it must be out of the London fashion, but said yes.

“I have got so out of it!” said Mr. Wemmick, — “except at last. Very glad, I'm sure, to make your acquaintance. Good day!”

When we had shaken hands and he was gone, I opened the staircase window and had nearly beheaded myself, for, the lines had rotted away, and it came down like the guillotine. Happily it was so quick that I had not put my head out.

After this escape, I was content to take a foggy view of the Inn through the window's encrusting dirt, and to stand