But not bleed that skunk Bartley, and not be revenged on
that villain Hope? I'd rather die where I stand, for they have turned my
blood to gall, and lighted hell in my heart this many a year of misery."
He held out his hand to her; it was cold. She grasped it in her warm,
soft palm, and gave him one strange, searching look with her glorious
eyes; and so they parted.
Next day, at dusk, there arrived at the Dun Cow an elderly man with a
large carpet-bag and a strapped bundle of patterns--tweed, kersey,
velveteen, and corduroys. He had a short gray mustache and beard, very
neat; and appeared to be a commercial traveller.
In the evening he asked for brandy, old rum, lemons, powdered sugar, a
kettle, and a punch-bowl. A huge one, relic of a past age, was produced.
He mixed delicious punch, and begged the landlady to sit down and taste
it. She complied, and pronounced it first-rate. He enticed her into
conversation.
She was a rattling gossip, and told him first her own grievances. Here
was the village enlarging, and yet no more custom coming to her because
of the beer-house.
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