"
"Did you ask a blessing on your present enterprise?" I
sneered.
He had a bad attack of St. Vitus, his face was changed,
and his eyes flashed. "I will tell you what I did," he
cried. "I prayed for an unfortunate man and a wretched
woman whom he tries to support."
I cannot pretend that I found any repartee.
The second incident was at Bristol, where I lost sight
of my gentleman some hours. From this eclipse he
returned to me with thick speech, wandering footsteps,
and a back all whitened with plaster. I had half
expected, yet I could have wept to see it. All
disabilities were piled on that weak back--domestic
misfortune, nervous disease, a displeasing exterior,
empty pockets, and the slavery of vice.
I will never deny that our prolonged conjunction was
the result of double cowardice. Each was afraid to
leave the other, each was afraid to speak, or knew not
what to say. Save for my ill-judged allusion at
Gloucester, the subject uppermost in both our minds was
buried. Carthew, Stallbridge-le-Carthew, Stallbridge-
Minster--which we had long since (and severally)
identified to be the nearest station--even the name of
Dorsetshire was studiously avoided.
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