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"
Yes
,
"
said
he
,
nodding
in
the
direction
.
"
At
Hammersmith
,
west
of
London
.
"
"
Is
that
far
?
"
"
Well
!
Say
five
miles
.
"
"
Do
you
know
him
?
"
"
Why
,
you
’
re
a
regular
cross
-
examiner
!
"
said
Mr
.
Wemmick
,
looking
at
me
with
an
approving
air
.
"
Yes
,
I
know
him
.
I
know
him
!
"
There
was
an
air
of
toleration
or
depreciation
about
his
utterance
of
these
words
that
rather
depressed
me
;
and
I
was
still
looking
sideways
at
his
block
of
a
face
in
search
of
any
encouraging
note
to
the
text
,
when
he
said
here
we
were
at
Barnard
’
s
Inn
.
My
depression
was
not
alleviated
by
the
announcement
,
for
,
I
had
supposed
that
establishment
to
be
an
hotel
kept
by
Mr
.
Barnard
,
to
which
the
Blue
Boar
in
our
town
was
a
mere
public
-
house
.
Whereas
I
now
found
Barnard
to
be
a
disembodied
spirit
,
or
a
fiction
,
and
his
inn
the
dingiest
collection
of
shabby
buildings
ever
squeezed
together
in
a
rank
corner
as
a
club
for
Tom
-
cats
.
We
entered
this
haven
through
a
wicket
-
gate
,
and
were
disgorged
by
an
introductory
passage
into
a
melancholy
little
square
that
looked
to
me
like
a
flat
burying
-
ground
.
I
thought
it
had
the
most
dismal
trees
in
it
,
and
the
most
dismal
sparrows
,
and
the
most
dismal
cats
,
and
the
most
dismal
houses
(
in
number
half
a
dozen
or
so
)
,
that
I
had
ever
seen
.
I
thought
the
windows
of
the
sets
of
chambers
into
which
those
houses
were
divided
were
in
every
stage
of
dilapidated
blind
and
curtain
,
crippled
flower
-
pot
,
cracked
glass
,
dusty
decay
,
and
miserable
makeshift
;
while
To
Let
,
To
Let
,
To
Let
,
glared
at
me
from
empty
rooms
,
as
if
no
new
wretches
ever
came
there
,
and
the
vengeance
of
the
soul
of
Barnard
were
being
slowly
appeased
by
the
gradual
suicide
of
the
present
occupants
and
their
unholy
interment
under
the
gravel
.
A
frowzy
mourning
of
soot
and
smoke
attired
this
forlorn
creation
of
Barnard
,
and
it
had
strewn
ashes
on
its
head
,
and
was
undergoing
penance
and
humiliation
as
a
mere
dust
-
hole
.
Thus
far
my
sense
of
sight
;
while
dry
rot
and
wet
rot
and
all
the
silent
rots
that
rot
in
neglected
roof
and
cellar
—
rot
of
rat
and
mouse
and
bug
and
coaching
-
stables
near
at
hand
besides
—
addressed
themselves
faintly
to
my
sense
of
smell
,
and
moaned
,
"
Try
Barnard
’
s
Mixture
.
"
So
imperfect
was
this
realization
of
the
first
of
my
great
expectations
,
that
I
looked
in
dismay
at
Mr
.
Wemmick
.
"
Ah
!
"
said
he
,
mistaking
me
;
"
the
retirement
reminds
you
of
the
country
.
So
it
does
me
.
"
