The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 138: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AGAR TOWN 121 At the head of the table sat Chiffin the Cannibal, who by ‘ acclamation had been voted into the chair to preside at the orgy. Though nineteen years had fled since we first intro- duced him to our readers, yet the lapse of time had effected no very striking change in his outward appearance, unless it were to stamp his features still more indelibly than in his younger days with the impress of ferocity and crime. In- deed, it were impossible to conceive a more finished air of ruffanism, or a more consummate aspect of cold-blooded brutality, than this dreadful man presented to the view. His dress was of the same character as that which he was wont to wear when we first spoke of him, namely, a rough, shagey coat, a battered white hat with a rusty black crape twisted around it, corduroy trousers all greasy and stained, dirty stockings, and great clumsy shoes. His inseparable companion, a stout bludgeon, lay before him on the table, and in the depths of his capacious pockets were a couple of pistols, which he constantly kept loaded. Of all the com- _ pany present — good Heaven! such a company as it was — he alone abstained from much talking or uproarious noise, his habit being rather of that sullen reserve which usually belongs to the cruel and cold-blooded disposition. At the same time, he by no means discountenanced the hideous mirth and horrible hilarity that were going on around; and from time to time he expressed his approval of some obscene anecdote or desperate exploit by a grim smile, which en- hanced rather than relaxed the rufhanism of his features. It was when the mirth and jollity were at their highest that the trampling of a horse’s hoofs suddenly approaching, and then stopping at the door of the public-house, reached the ears of the revellers in the tap-room, and one of the women exclaimed, “‘ There’s Lady Bess! ” ‘““ Oh, then she’s sure to order us a bowl of punch,”’ cried another of the females, clapping her hands joyfully. ‘Lady Bess always flashes her money about when she comes amongst us. ‘Yes, when she does,” growled Chiffin the Cannibal, in a deep bass voice that had something cavern-like and sepulchral in its tones, ‘‘ but how often is it that she does come? She’s a deuced sight too proud to suit me.”’ “Ah, but if she’s proud she’s so generous!’ at once rejoined the first female who had spoken. COMMICOooOoOKS.C®