He recoiled from the sting. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr. Wood, who had merely absented himself to see that a public breakfast, which he had ordered at the Six Bells for all who chose to partake of it, was in readiness. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. He looked about for his hat, and put it on.
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