The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. . The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. "Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner. ” “She’ll meet somebody one of these days—walking about like that. I am an old friend, and I declined to be shelved.
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