A fleet of barges lay waiting the turn of the tide to proceed to their
destination. The voices of the men shouting to each other, and
blaspheming for no particular reason, came quite clear and distinct
over the water. The garden was strewed with twigs and branches blown
off the trees during the night; amongst them the sprigs of ivy I had
myself cut off.
An hour and a scene not calculated to encourage superstitious fancies,
it may be, but still not likely to enliven any man's spirits--a quiet,
dull, gray, listless, dispiriting morning, and, being country-bred, I
felt its influence.
"I will walk into town, and ask Ned Munro to give me some breakfast," I
thought, and found comfort in the idea.
Ned Munro was a doctor, but not a struggling doctor. He was not rich,
but he "made enough for a beginner": so he said. He worked hard for
little pay; "but I mean some day to have high pay, and take the world
easy," he explained. He was blessed with great hopes and good courage;
he had high spirits, and a splendid constitution. He neither starved
himself nor his friends; his landlady "loved him as her son"; and
there were several good-looking girls who were very fond of him, not
as a brother.
But Ned had no notion of marrying, yet awhile.
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