Ah, here was richness indeed! Pies, pies,
cakes, pies, frosted cakes, cakes sweating golden, fruity promises, and
cakes as icy as the hand of charity. Pinton was happy, glutton that he
was, and he soon filled the pockets of his overcoat. What Mrs. Hallam
might say in the morning he cared not. Let the galled jade wince, his
breakfast appetite would be unwrung; and then he started violently, lost
his balance, and almost fell to the floor.
Opposite him was the window of the pantry, which faced the wall of the
next house. Pinton had never been in the pantry by daylight, so he was
rudely shocked by the glance of a light--a cursory, moving light. It
showed him a window in the other house and a pair of stairs. It
flickered about an old baluster and a rusty carpet, it came from below,
it mounted upward and was lost to view.
The burglar of pies, the ravisher of cakes, was almost shocked by this
unexpected light. He watched it dancing fantastically on the discoloured
wall of the house; he wondered--ill at ease--if it would flash in his
face. His surmise was realized, for a streak of illumination reached the
narrow chamber in which he cowered, and then he was certain some one was
looking at him.
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