23/01/28 08:35:42.56 vzFI9DOV0.net
CHAPTER 3. The Spouter-Inn.
Entering that gable-ended Spouter-Inn, ●you● found yourself in a wide, low,
straggling entry with old-fashioned wainscots, reminding one of the bulwarks
of some condemned old craft. On one side hung a very large oilpainting
so thoroughly besmoked, and every way defaced, that in the unequal crosslights
by which ★you★ viewed it, it was only by diligent study and a series of systematic visits to it,
and careful inquiry of the neighbors, that ◆you◆ could any way arrive at an understanding
of its purpose. Such unaccountable masses of shades and shadows, that at first ●you● almost
thought some ambitious young artist, in the time of the New England hags, had endeavored
to delineate chaos bewitched. But by dint of much and earnest contemplation, and oft repeated
ponderings, and especially by throwing open the little window towards the back of the entry,
●you● at last come to the conclusion that such an idea, however wild, might not be altogether unwarranted.