"Can you read it?" he asked me with a keen glance.
"Surely," said I. "It's very plain."
"What is it?"
"J."
With another glance at me, and a glance at the door, he rubbed it out and turned an "a" in its place (not a capital letter this time), and said, "What's that?"
I told him. He then rubbed that out and turned the letter "r," and asked me the same question. He went on quickly until he had formed in the same curious manner, beginning at the ends and bottoms of the letters, the word Jarndyce, without once leaving two letters on the wall together.

"Can you read it?" he asked me with a keen glance.
"Surely," said I. "It's J."
With another glance at me, and a glance at the door, he rubbed it out and wrote an "a" in its place, and said, "What's that?"
I told him. He rubbed that out and wrote the letter "r," and asked the same question. He went on this way until he had formed the word Jarndyce, without once leaving two letters on the wall together.
