The Man Who Laughs


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game of spillikins in confusion. In legends it is said that Astaroth  
travelled over the world, carrying on her back a wallet which contained  
everything, even good women in their houses. A pell-mell of sheds thrown  
from her devil's bag would give an idea of that irregular Weymouth--the  
good women in the sheds included. The Music Hall remains as a specimen  
of those buildings. A confusion of wooden dens, carved and eaten by  
worms (which carve in another fashion)--shapeless, overhanging  
buildings, some with pillars, leaning one against the other for support  
against the sea wind, and leaving between them awkward spaces of narrow  
and winding channels, lanes, and passages, often flooded by the  
equinoctial tides; a heap of old grandmother houses, crowded round a  
grandfather church--such was Weymouth; a sort of old Norman village  
thrown up on the coast of England.  
The traveller who entered the tavern, now replaced by the hotel, instead  
of paying royally his twenty-five francs for a fried sole and a bottle  
of wine, had to suffer the humiliation of eating a pennyworth of soup  
made of fish--which soup, by-the-bye, was very good. Wretched fare!  
The deserted child, carrying the foundling, passed through the first  
street, then the second, then the third. He raised his eyes, seeking in  
the higher stories and in the roofs a lighted window-pane; but all were  
closed and dark. At intervals he knocked at the doors. No one answered.  
Nothing makes the heart so like a stone as being warm between sheets.  
The noise and the shaking had at length awakened the infant. He knew  
this because he felt her suck his cheek. She did not cry, believing him  
her mother.  
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235 236 237 238 239

Quick Jump
1 236 472 708 944