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The Cathedral by Sir Hugh Walpole
page 106 of 529 (20%)
him--"Black Enchantment," perhaps. He was to hear that struggling chatter
of the river until his dying day.

He pushed through the passage and turned to the right into the bar. A damp
day like this always served Hogg's trade. The gas was lit and sizzled
overhead with a noise as though it commented ironically on the fatuity of
the human beings beneath it. The room was full, but most of the men--
seamen, loafers, a country man or two--crowded up to the bar. Falk crossed
to a table in the corner near the window, his accustomed seat. No one
seemed to notice him, but soon Hogg, stout and smiling, came over to him.
No one had ever seen Samuel Hogg out of temper--no, never, not even when
there had been fighting in the place and he had been compelled to eject
men, by force of arms, through the doors and windows. There had not been
many fights there. Men were afraid of him, in spite of his imperturbable
good temper. Men said of him that he would stick at nothing, although what
exactly was meant by that no one knew.

He had a good word for every one; no crime or human failing could shock
him. He laughed at everything. And yet men feared him. Perhaps for that
very reason. The worst sinner has some kind of standard of right and
wrong. Himself he may not keep it, but he likes to see it there. "Oh, he's
deep," was Seatown's verdict on Samuel Hogg, and it is certain that the
late Mrs. Hogg had not been, in spite of her husband's good temper, a
happy woman.

He came up to Falk now,--smiling, and asked him what he would have. "Nasty
day," he said. Falk ordered his drink. Dimly through the mist and
thickened air the Cathedral chimes recorded the hour. Funny how you could
hear them in every nook and corner of Polchester.

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