I
went up-stairs after some tobacco, which I felt to be a
mere necessity in the circumstances; and when I
returned, the man was gone. The waiter told me he had
left the house.
The rain still plumped, like a vast shower-bath, over
the deserted town. The night was dark and windless:
the street lit glimmeringly from end to end, lamps,
house-windows, and the reflections in the rain-pools
all contributing. From a public-house on the other
side of the way, I heard a harp twang and a doleful
voice upraised in the "Larboard Watch," "The Anchor's
Weighed," and other naval ditties. Where had my
shyster wandered? In all likelihood to that lyrical
tavern; there was no choice of diversion; in comparison
with Stallbridge-Minster on a rainy night a sheepfold
would seem gay.
Again I passed in review the points of my interview, on
which I was always constantly resolved so long as my
adversary was absent from the scene, and again they
struck me as inadequate. From this dispiriting
exercise I turned to the native amusements of the inn
coffee-room, and studied for some time the mezzotints
that frowned upon the wall.
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