"I suppose I must have been senseless for some time; for, on coming to myself, I found this gash in my head, and the ground covered with blood. Divers plans and figures were chalked upon the walls; and the spaces between them were filled up with an almanack for the year; a godly ballad, adorned with a rude wood-cut, purporting to be "The History of Chaste Susannah;" an old print of the Seven Golden Candlesticks; an abstract of the various Acts of Parliament against drinking, swearing, and all manner of profaneness; and a view of the interior of Doctor Daniel Burgess's Presbyterian meeting-house in Russell Court, with portraits of the reverend gentleman and the principal members of his flock. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. Maggot. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. I don’t want a family in the suburbs and Christmases at the Florida house and summers at the Hamptons. She came to her one day and pulled on her apron. Wood, and you'll find that I've spoken the truth.
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