Our one subject of regret, in going to London, was the necessity of
parting, more abruptly than we could have wished, with Ezra Jennings. It
was impossible to persuade him to accompany us. I could only promise to
write to him--and Rachel could only insist on his coming to see her when
she returned to Yorkshire. There was every prospect of our meeting again
in a few months--and yet there was something very sad in seeing our best
and dearest friend left standing alone on the platform, as the train
moved out of the station.
On our arrival in London, Mr. Bruff was accosted at the terminus by a
small boy, dressed in a jacket and trousers of threadbare black cloth,
and personally remarkable in virtue of the extraordinary prominence of
his eyes. They projected so far, and they rolled about so loosely,
that you wondered uneasily why they remained in their sockets. After
listening to the boy, Mr. Bruff asked the ladies whether they would
excuse our accompanying them back to Portland Place. I had barely time
to promise Rachel that I would return, and tell her everything that had
happened, before Mr. Bruff seized me by the arm, and hurried me into a
cab.
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