James's Square had departed utterly.
Barnabas paused to let his gaze wander over it, from roof to pavement,
then, smiling a little bitterly, buried his chin in the folds of his
belcher neckerchief and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets,
turned and went his way.
And as he went, smiling still, and still a little bitterly, he needs
must remember and vaguely wonder what had become of all that Polite
notepaper, and all those Fashionable cards, embossed, gilt-edged,
and otherwise, that had been wont to pour upon him every morning,
and which had so rejoiced the highly susceptible and eloquent legs
of the Gentleman-in-Powder.
Evening was falling and the square seemed deserted save for a
solitary man in a neckcloth of vivid hue, a dejected-looking man who
lounged against the wall under the shade of the trees in the middle
of the square, and seemed lost in contemplation of his boots. And
yet when Barnabas, having traversed Charles Street and turned into
the Haymarket, chanced to look back, he saw that the man was
lounging dejectedly after him. Therefore Barnabas quickened his steps,
and, reaching the crowded Strand, hurried on through the bustling
throng; but just beyond Temple Bar, caught a glimpse of the vivid
neckcloth on the opposite side of the road.
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