Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction
Sir Thomas's chambers in Southampton Buildings, though they were dull
and dingy of aspect from the outside, and were reached by a staircase
which may be designated as lugubrious,--so much did its dark and
dismantled condition tend to melancholy,--were in themselves large
and commodious. His bedroom was small, but he had two spacious
sitting-rooms, one of which was fitted up as a library, and the
other as a dining-room. Over and beyond these there was a clerk's
room;--for Sir Thomas, though he had given up the greater part of
his business, had not given up his clerk; and here the old man, the
clerk, passed his entire time, from half-past eight in the morning
till ten at night, waiting upon his employer in various capacities
with a sedulous personal attention to which he had probably not
intended to devote himself when he first took upon himself the duties
of clerk to a practising Chancery barrister. But Joseph Stemm and Sir
Thomas were not unlike in character, and had grown old together with
too equal a step to admit of separation and of new alliance. Stemm
had but one friend in the world, and Sir Thomas was that friend. I
have already said that Sir Thomas had no friend;--but perhaps he felt
more of that true intimacy, which friendship produces, with Stemm
than with any other human being.
Sir Thomas was a tall thin man, who stooped considerably,--though not
from any effect of years, with a face which would perhaps have been
almost mean had it not been rescued from that evil condition by the
assurance of intelligence and strength which is always conveyed by
a certain class of ugliness. He had a nose something like the great
Lord Brougham's,--thin, long, and projecting at the point. He had
quick grey eyes, and a good forehead;--but the component parts of his
countenance were irregular and roughly put together. His chin was
long, as was also his upper lip;--so that it may be taken as a fact
that he was an ugly man. He was hale, however, and strong, and was
still so good a walker that he thought nothing of making his way down
to the villa on foot of an evening, after dining at his club.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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