There
were shops not a few, but their windows were those of dwellings, as
the upper parts of their buildings mostly were. In those shops was
as good a supply of the necessities of life as in a great town, and
cheaper. You could not get a coat so well cut, nor a pair of shoes
to fit you so tight without hurting, but you could get first-rate
work. The streets were unevenly paved with round, water-worn
stones: Donal was not sorry that he had not to walk far upon them.
The setting sun sent his shadow before him as he entered the place.
He kept the middle of the street, looking on this side and that for
the hostelry whither he had despatched his chest before leaving
home. A gloomy building, apparently uninhabited, drew his
attention, and sent a strange thrill through him as his eyes fell
upon it. It was of three low stories, the windows defended by iron
stanchions, the door studded with great knobs of iron. A little way
beyond he caught sight of the sign he was in search of. It swung in
front of an old-fashioned, dingy building, with much of the
old-world look that pervaded the town. The last red rays of the sun
were upon it, lighting up a sorely faded coat of arms. The
supporters, two red horses on their hind legs, were all of it he
could make out. The crest above suggested a skate, but could hardly
have been intended for one. A greedy-eyed man stood in the doorway,
his hands in his trouser-pockets.
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