A Loss

           IgotdowntoYarmouthintheevening,andwenttotheinn.IknewthatPeggotty’sspareroommyroomwaslikelytohaveoccupationenoughinalittlewhile,ifthatgreatVisitor,beforewhosepresenceallthelivingmustgiveplace,werenotalreadyinthehouse;soIbetookmyselftotheinn,anddinedthere,andengagedmybed.

           Itwasteno’clockwhenIwentout.Manyoftheshopswereshut,andthetownwasdull.WhenIcametoOmerandJoram’s,Ifoundtheshuttersup,buttheshopdoorstandingopen.AsIcouldobtainaperspectiveviewofMr.Omerinside,smokinghispipebytheparlourdoor,Ientered,andaskedhimhowhewas.

           ‘Why,blessmylifeandsoul!’saidMr.Omer,‘howdoyoufindyourself?Takeaseat.Smokenotdisagreeable,Ihope?’

           ‘Bynomeans,’saidI.‘Ilikeitinsomebodyelse’spipe.’

           ‘What,notinyourown,eh?’Mr.Omerreturned,laughing.‘Allthebetter,sir.Badhabitforayoungman.Takeaseat.Ismoke,myself,fortheasthma.’

           Mr.Omerhadmaderoomforme,andplacedachair.Henowsatdownagainverymuchoutofbreath,gaspingathispipeasifitcontainedasupplyofthatnecessary,withoutwhichhemustperish.

           ‘IamsorrytohaveheardbadnewsofMr.Barkis,’saidI.

           Mr.Omerlookedatme,withasteadycountenance,andshookhishead.

           ‘Doyouknowhowheistonight?’Iasked.

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