But what distinguished this house from all the others,
was the profusion of books it contained. There were books on the tables,
books under the tables, books piled up in the corner of the room.
Godfrey Cradlebow himself was confined in-doors much of the time with the
rheumatism. He made nets for the fishermen. I used to like to watch his
fingers moving deftly while he talked.
Things having gone wrong with him, and he having suffered much acute
physical pain, besides--(that was evident from the manner in which his
stalwart frame had been bent with his disease) he had "taken to drink,"
not excessively, but he seemed to be, most of the time, in a lightly
inebriated condition. He was a strange and fluent talker, often ecstatic.
"It is commonly believed, Miss Hungerford," he said to me, once; "that we
start on the summit of life, that we descend into the valley, that the
sun is westering; but as for me, I seem to look far below there on the
mists and dew of earlier years. I walk among the hills. The horizon
widens. The air grows thin. I see the solemn streaks of dawn appearing
through the gloom. Ah," he murmured, again; "weak and erring though I
undoubtedly am, I have a kinship with the living Christ.
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