It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. “It is the first moment we have let him out of our sight,” Brendon exclaimed, as he hastened across the street. The Reaper is not sated yet. "What for?" demanded Wood. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment.
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