’ ‘The horse?’ echoed Melusine. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. “What ought she to do?” “Suppose you—” “Yes, suppose I—” He felt that his advice was being asked. His kind eyes were puffy with fatigue. At first Spurlock tasted coconut in his eggs, in what meat he ate; it permeated everything, taste and smell.
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