Emmanuel Burden, merchant, of Thames St., in the city of London, exporter of hardware : a record of his lineage, speculations, last days and death . ked at him fixedly, wonderingat his smile, and felt for a moment an angrywave of emotion. He took this man also forone of his enemies. But a muddled feeling of pleasant associationcame after. He took him foolishly for a friend,and smiled and nodded in reply. Then, bypure instinct, such as animals have, he foundthe way towards his home. He came up that familiar road, his headreeling, and a bond, as though of iron, op-pressing it within ; and, as he
Emmanuel Burden, merchant, of Thames St., in the city of London, exporter of hardware : a record of his lineage, speculations, last days and death . ked at him fixedly, wonderingat his smile, and felt for a moment an angrywave of emotion. He took this man also forone of his enemies. But a muddled feeling of pleasant associationcame after. He took him foolishly for a friend,and smiled and nodded in reply. Then, bypure instinct, such as animals have, he foundthe way towards his home. He came up that familiar road, his headreeling, and a bond, as though of iron, op-pressing it within ; and, as he walked, hesuffered some dull ache continually. His slowsteps jarred him ; and now and then thosepulsating throbs that are Deaths artillery pre-paring his attack, hammered at the walls ofhis being. He kept to one line of the pavement to makemore sure ; and once he thought: Perhaps Iam drunk. For it flashed twice on him thathe was something different from himself; and hemixed with a night forty years gone, when hehad drunk a whole bottle of some kind of heard again his fathers anger; and itseemed to him, in a fantastic way, that he was. THE SEMOUS INDISPOSITION OF MH. BUKDEN IN THE TKAIN MR BURDEN 303 about to meet that anger now—after all thoseyears. The functions of humanity were breakingdown in him : memory, connection, , poor Mr Burden! He had not knownwhat was meant by the preachers when theypreached ; he had not known what was beforehim when they talked of the Soul. Mr Burdenhad called it immortal in his recited creed, andvery right had he been in so calling it, and hewas to prove it right in astounding trials, but inso doing quite to pass beyond the meaning ofhis word or theirs. He came up that familiar road : he saw thegates of his own house—they both stood whitein the evening. Habit (or ritual) the mistressof men sane, the good nurse of the last hours,carried him stumbling beyond the first passed the lodge, and, stumbling still, hereached t
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