Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. She was poor. He thanked God for this talent of his. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. This circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour except that he endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting. Returning to the audience-chamber in a by-no-means enviable state of mind, he commanded the Jew to throw the body of Thames into the Well Hole. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. I wrote three letters yesterday and tore them up.
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This video was uploaded to jandlonmark.org on 04-07-2024 15:56:14
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