Lucerne! Surely it was
in some former state of existence that he had taken delightful holidays as
a matter of course. He thought of the many lovely places he knew, and so
many dream-landscapes; the London streets made them infinitely remote,
utterly unreal. His three years of gloom and hardship were longer than all
the life of placid contentment that came before. Lucerne! A man of more
vigorous temper would have been maddened at the thought; but Mr. Tymperley
nursed it all day long, his emotions only expressing themselves in a little
sigh or a sadly wistful smile.
Having dined so well yesterday, he felt it his duty to expend less than
usual on to-day's meals. About eight o'clock in the evening, after a
meditative stroll in the air which he had so praised, he entered the shop
where he was wont to make his modest purchases. A fat woman behind the
counter nodded familiarly to him, with a grin at another customer. Mr.
Tymperley bowed, as was his courteous habit.
'Oblige me,' he said, 'with one new-laid egg, and a small, crisp lettuce.'
'Only one to-night, eh?' said the woman.
'Thank you, only one,' he replied, as if speaking in a drawing-room.
'Forgive me if I express a hope that it will be, in the strict sense of the
word, new-laid.
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