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Containing the Story of the Bagman’s Uncle

           

           ‘itwasawild,gustynightwhenmyuncleclosedthebailie’sdoor,andsettlinghishatfirmlyonhisheadtopreventthewindfromtakingit,thrusthishandsintohispockets,andlookingupward,tookashortsurveyofthestateoftheweather.Thecloudsweredriftingoverthemoonattheirgiddiestspeed;atonetimewhollyobscuringher;atanother,sufferinghertoburstforthinfullsplendourandshedherlightonalltheobjectsaround;anon,drivingoverheragain,withincreasedvelocity,andshroudingeverythingindarkness."Really,thiswon’tdo,"saidmyuncle,addressinghimselftotheweather,asifhefelthimselfpersonallyoffended."Thisisnotatallthekindofthingformyvoyage.Itwillnotdoatanyprice,"saidmyuncle,veryimpressively.Havingrepeatedthis,severaltimes,herecoveredhisbalancewithsomedifficultyforhewasrathergiddywithlookingupintotheskysolongandwalkedmerrilyon.

           ‘Thebailie’shousewasintheCanongate,andmyunclewasgoingtotheotherendofLeithWalk,ratherbetterthanamile’sjourney.Oneithersideofhim,thereshotupagainstthedarksky,tall,gaunt,stragglinghouses,withtime-stainedfronts,andwindowsthatseemedtohavesharedthelotofeyesinmortals,andtohavegrowndimandsunkenwithage.Six,seven,eightStoreyhigh,werethehouses;storeypileduponstorey,aschildrenbuildwithcardsthrowingtheirdarkshadowsovertheroughlypavedroad,andmakingthedarknightdarker.

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