As for the doctor, he found a pleasure in this service that would have puzzled him had he paused to analyse it. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation.
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