Into his charge, then, I surrendered Rosinante, and followed my
inarticulate acquaintance into the noise and heat and lustre of the
Inn.
It was a numerous company there assembled. But their voices fell to a
man on the entry of a stranger. They scrutinised me, not uncivilly,
but closely, seeking my badge, as it were by which to recognise and
judge me ever after.
Mr. Mistrust, as I presently discovered my guide's name indeed to be,
was volubly explaining how I came into his company. They listened
intently to what, so far as I could gather, might be Houyhnhnmish or
Double-Dutch. And then, as if to show me to my place forthwith, a
great fleshy fellow that sat close beside the hearth this summer
evening continued in a loud voice the conversation I had interrupted.
Whereupon Mr. Mistrust with no little confidence commended me in dumb
show to the landlady of the Inn, a Mrs. Nature, if I understood him
aright. This person was still comely, though of uncertain age, wore
cherry ribbons, smiled rather vacantly from vague, wonderful,
indescribable eyes that seemed to change colour, like the chameleon,
according to that they dwelt on.
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