" He was delighted to find the office deserted. . He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him. “It spreads like wildfire. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Thanks.
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