The "Bull" welcomed us, or more particularly Anthony, with cheeriness
tempered with respect; such a bustling of ostlers, running to and fro
of serving men; such a dimpling and curtseying of buxom, neat-capped
maids; such beaming obeisances from mine host, all to welcome "Mr.
Anthony": indeed such a reception as might have warmed the heart of
any man save your embittered, cold-hearted cynic or one who rode with
demons on his shoulders.
Though the fare was excellent my appetite was poor and I ate and drank
but little, to Anthony's evident concern; and when at last we took the
road again, I rode with a jibbering devil on either shoulder, filling
me again with nameless fears and vague, unreasoning doubts of I knew
not what. Above and around me seemed an ever-growing shadow, a
foreboding expectancy of an oncoming evil I could neither define nor
shake off, try how I would.
Anthony seemed to sense something of this and (like the good fellow he
was) strove valiantly to banish my uncanny gloom, though my attention
often wandered and I answered at random or not at all.
"Clothes go a damned long way with a woman, Perry!" he was saying.
"I'm married and I know! That evening suit o' yours with the
lavender-flowered waistcoat is bound to rivet her eye--nail her
regard, d'ye see! Then there's your new riding suit, I mean the
bottle-green frock with the gold-crested buttons. She must see you in
that and there's few look better astride a horse than yourself--" here
I became lost again in the vile gibbering of my demons until these
words of Anthony's brought me back again:
"--dev'lish solitary place with an unsavoury reputation.
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