Bungay.
But Eames, though he drank the porter, and quizzed FitzHoward, and
gibed at Kissing, did not seat himself in his new arm-chair without
some serious thoughts. He was aware that his career in London had not
hitherto been one on which he could look back with self-respect. He
had lived with friends whom he did not esteem; he had been idle, and
sometimes worse than idle; and he had allowed himself to be hampered
by the pretended love of a woman for whom he had never felt any true
affection, and by whom he had been cozened out of various foolish
promises which even yet were hanging over his head. As he sat with
Sir Raffle's notes before him, he thought almost with horror of the
men and women in Burton Crescent. It was now about three years since
he had first known Cradell, and he shuddered as he remembered how
very poor a creature was he whom he had chosen for his bosom friend.
He could not make for himself those excuses which we can make
for him. He could not tell himself that he had been driven by
circumstances to choose a friend, before he had learned to know what
were the requisites for which he should look.
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