Explore "Shrewsbury" by Stanley J. Weyman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was no small thing could enlighten that brain clouded by the fumes of drink and conceit; but the silence, perfect and clothing panic -- a silence that had set in with his first word, and a panic that had grown with a whisper passed round the table -- came home to him at last. "What is it? What is the matter? " he cried, with a silly drunken laugh. And he turned to look.
No one answered; but he saw the sight which I had already seen -- his fellows fallen from him, and huddled on the farther side of the table, as sheep huddle from the sheep-dog; some pale, cross-eyed, and with lips drawn back, seeking softly in their cloaks for weapons; others standing irresolute, or leaning against the wall, shaking and unnerved.