- end_line
- 5657
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:26.981Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 5638
- text
- ‘You! Is it _you_? The man I turned away this very morning, skulking
here? You dare to touch that bell? Scoundrel!’
And ere I could defend myself, seizing me irresistibly in his powerful
grasp, he tore me along by the collar, and dragging me down the stairs,
thrust me into the arms of three policemen, who, attracted by the sudden
toll of the bell, had gathered curiously about the porch.
All remonstrances were vain. The beadle-faced man was bigoted against
me. Represented as a lawless violator, and a remorseless disturber of
the Sunday peace, I was conducted to the Halls of Justice. Next morning,
my rather gentlemanly appearance procured me a private hearing from the
judge. But the beadle-faced man must have made a Sunday night call on
him. In spite of my coolest explanations, the circumstances of the case
were deemed so exceedingly suspicious, that only after paying a round
fine, and receiving a stinging reprimand, was I permitted to go at
large, and pardoned for having humbly indulged myself in the luxury of
public worship.
- title
- Chunk 6