He was a learned man, and knew
the flavour of John Westlock's private sauces, which he softly and
feelingly described, as he handed the little bottles round. He was a
grave man, and a noiseless; for dinner being done, and wine and fruit
arranged upon the board, he vanished, box and all, like something that
had never been.
'Didn't I say he was a tremendous fellow in his housekeeping?' cried
Tom. 'Bless my soul! It's wonderful.'
'Ah, Miss Pinch,' said John. 'This is the bright side of the life we
lead in such a place. It would be a dismal life, indeed, if it didn't
brighten up to-day'
'Don't believe a word he says,' cried Tom. 'He lives here like a
monarch, and wouldn't change his mode of life for any consideration. He
only pretends to grumble.'
No, John really did not appear to pretend; for he was uncommonly earnest
in his desire to have it understood that he was as dull, solitary, and
uncomfortable on ordinary occasions as an unfortunate young man could,
in reason, be. It was a wretched life, he said, a miserable life. He
thought of getting rid of the chambers as soon as possible; and meant,
in fact, to put a bill up very shortly.
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