He knew it was unnerving, he did it to everyone, even his own kin. Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. The low ceiling made him seem abnormally tall. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. I think too much about myself. He saw the colossal selfishness of his act; but he could not beg off on the plea of abnormality.
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