In a moment he understood, and withdrawing
the bottle from his pocket he set it beside him on the table. He
looked at it for a few seconds as though in hesitation, but he
determined not to have recourse to its contents so soon. He had
undoubtedly been frightened again, but the sound that had scared
him had been real and not imaginary. Besides, he had but this one
bottle and he knew that good brandy was dear. He pushed it away,
his avarice helping him to resist the temptation.
The old documents were agreeably familiar to his eye, and he read
and re-read them with increasing satisfaction, comparing them
carefully, and chuckling to himself each time that he reached the
bottom of the sheet upon the copy, where there had been no room to
introduce that famous clause. But for that accident, he reflected,
he would have undoubtedly made the insertion upon the originals,
and the latter would be now no longer in his possession. He did
not quite understand why he derived such pleasure from reading the
writing so often, nor why, when the surrounding objects in the
room were clear and distinct to his eyes, the crabbed characters
should every now and then seem to move of themselves and to run
into each other from right to left. Possibly the emotions of the
day had strained his vision.
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