This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. The lantern was on the ground inside, ready. Sometimes I think you would have been much better off if you had been born in death-worshipping Egypt instead of in the Fourteenth Century. "Devilish nice ham you've got here!—capital pie!—and, as I live, a flask of excellent canary. . Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order.
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