The benches running round the room, though fastened to the walls by iron clamps, had been forcibly wrenched off; while the table, which was similarly secured to the boards, was upset, and its contents—bottles, jugs, glasses, and bowls were broken and scattered about in all directions. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. When the carpenter concluded his recital, Jonathan was for a moment lost in reflection. Something he saw there made him feel for a moment ashamed. I hate this part of the world.
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