ABSTRACT
I spent this night from home, at an obscure inn, where I was entirely unknown, and returned in the morning. About two o’clock I walked out with Gifford. He was my confidant; and I consulted him a little respecting the past, and talked somewhat by broken sentences in gloomy anticipations of the future. But my heart was too heavy to allow me to say much. My steps were those of despair; my frame was worn out with watching and perturbation. Gifford led me unawares toward a little remote public house.
