The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 234: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“Sir,” added Todd, as he finished the shaving and whipped off the cloth from the patient. “Sir, if I should have finished you five minutes ago, so that I am sure no one would have heard the slightest complaint from you, but for the truly engaging conversation of this gentleman here, whom I shall have great pleasure now in polishing off.” “Oh, don’t name it,” said the shaved customer, laying down a penny. “Don’t name it, I said I was in no hurry, so I can hardly blame you for taking your time.” He went through the usual operation of a partial slosh of cold water from a pewter basin, and then dried himself upon a jack towel, ® and left the shop. “Now, sir,” said Todd. The clerical-looking gentleman waved his hand as though he would have said— “For goodness sake don’t interrupt me until I have finished this paragraph.” Todd fixed his eyes upon him, and began slowly stropping the razor he had been recently using. “Now, sir, if you please.” “One moment—one—mo—nment, | shall get through the deaths in an in—stant.” Todd continued stropping the razor, when suddenly the Courant dropped from the hands of the clerical-looking gentleman, and he uttered a groan that made Todd start. “Hopkins—Hopkins—Gabriel Hopkins!” “Sir.” “Hopkins! my friend—my councillor—my fellow student—my companion—my Mentor—my—my Hopkins!” The clerical-looking gentleman shut up his face in his hands, and rocked to and fro in an agony of grief. “Good God, sir,” cried Todd, advancing. “What is the meaning of this?” “In that paper you will find the death of Hopkins inserted, sir. Yes, in the obituary of that paper. Gabriel Hopkins—the true—the gentle—the affectionate—the christian—Hop—kins!” “How sorry I am, sir,” said Todd. “But, pray sit in this chair, sir, a shave will compose your feelings.” “A shave! You barbarian. Do you think I could think of being shaved within two minutes of hearing of the death of the oldest and best friend I ever had in the world. No—no. Oh, Hopkins—Hop—kins!” The Rev. gentleman in a paroxysm of grief rushed from the house, and Todd himself sunk upon the shaving chair. “Tt is, it must be so,” cried Todd, as his face became livid with rage and apprehension. “There is more in these coincidences than mere chance will suffice to account for. Why is it that, if I have a customer here, some one else will be sure to come in, and then after waiting until he is gone himself, leave upon some frivolous excuse? Do I stand upon a mine? Am I suspected?—am I watched? or—or more terrible, ten times more terrible question still, am—am I at length, with all my care, discovered?” Q9OOO0GOOO CORniclooo S CO)