He entered the house, and having told Mrs. Jobson that she could go to
bed, sat down to smoke and think. Harold Quaritch, like many solitary
men, was a great smoker, and never did he feel the need for the
consolation of tobacco more than on this night. A few months ago, when
he had retired from the army, he found himself in a great dilemma.
There he was, a hale, active man of three-and-forty, of busy habits,
and regular mind, suddenly thrown upon the world without occupation.
What was he to do with himself? While he was asking this question and
waiting blankly for an answer which did not come, his aunt, old Mrs.
Massey, departed this life, leaving him heir to what she possessed,
which might be three hundred a year in all. This, added to his pension
and the little that he owned independently, put him beyond the
necessity of seeking further employment. So he had made up his mind to
come to reside at Molehill, and live the quiet, somewhat aimless, life
of a small country gentleman. His reading, for he was a great reader,
especially of scientific works, would, he thought, keep him employed.
Moreover, he was a thorough sportsman, and an ardent, though owing to
the smallness of his means, necessarily not a very extensive,
collector of curiosities, and more particularly of coins.
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