In this frame of mind, I not only abandoned my contemplated visit to
Mrs. Ablewhite--I even shrank from encountering Gabriel Betteredge
himself.
Returning to Frizinghall, I left a note for Betteredge, telling him that
I had been unexpectedly called away for a few hours, but that he might
certainly expect me to return towards three o'clock in the afternoon. I
requested him, in the interval, to order his dinner at the usual hour,
and to amuse himself as he pleased. He had, as I well knew, hosts of
friends in Frizinghall; and he would be at no loss how to fill up his
time until I returned to the hotel.
This done, I made the best of my way out of the town again, and roamed
the lonely moorland country which surrounds Frizinghall, until my watch
told me that it was time, at last, to return to Mr. Candy's house.
I found Ezra Jennings ready and waiting for me.
He was sitting alone in a bare little room, which communicated by a
glazed door with a surgery. Hideous coloured diagrams of the ravages of
hideous diseases decorated the barren buff-coloured walls. A book-case
filled with dingy medical works, and ornamented at the top with a skull,
in place of the customary bust; a large deal table copiously splashed
with ink; wooden chairs of the sort that are seen in kitchens and
cottages; a threadbare drugget in the middle of the floor; a sink of
water, with a basin and waste-pipe roughly let into the wall, horribly
suggestive of its connection with surgical operations--comprised the
entire furniture of the room.
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