It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. In addition to his customary arms, Jonathan carried a bludgeon with a large heavy knob, suspended from his wrist by a loop; a favourite weapon, which he always took with him on dangerous expeditions, and which, if any information had been requisite, would have told Sheppard that the present was one of them. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. It was a mass of knick-knacks. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. Them young prigs is all alike. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again.
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