I knew it. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. His mind was busy with a résumé of yesterday's unusual events. ToC Jack was scarcely concealed when the door opened, and the two persons of whom he had caught a glimpse below entered the room. Gerald was instantly on the alert. "The opinions, entertained by the old knight, naturally induced him to view with displeasure the conduct of his son, who warmly espoused the cause he had deserted. “I always get off here and lean over that rail for a bit. "Give me the link," cried Jonathan.
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