casualties. She was, however, convinced he was "took in." He was her husband. She gave me his name, but that conveyed nothing, as it was the dresser's business to take names. With a happy inspiration I asked, What is he?" "A butler," she replied. Now a butler is one of the rarest varieties of mankind ever to be seen in Whitechapel, and it did so happen that I had, a few hours before, admitted an undoubted butler. I told her so, with the effusion of one eager to give useful information. She said, "What is the matter with him?" I replied cheerily, "He has cut his throat."
The effect of this unwise readiness on my part was astonishing. The poor woman, letting go of my coat, collapsed vertically to the floor. She seemed to shut up within herself like a telescope. She just went down like a dress dropping from a peg. When she was as small a heap as was possible in a human being she rolled over on to her head on the ground. A more sudden collapse I have never seen. Had I been fully awake it would never have happened. We placed her on a couch and soon restored her to consciousness. Her story was simple. She and her husband had met. The two being "full of supper and distempering draughts" (as Brabantio would say)
