Finding him slow, they clamored for the contents of the epistle, and the
route of the writer--neither of which did he seem desirous to
communicate. His evasions and unwillingness were all in vain, and he was
at length compelled to undertake the perusal of the scrawl; a task he
would most gladly have avoided in their presence. He was in doubt and
fear. What could the pedler have to communicate, on paper, which might
not have been left over for their interview? His mind was troubled, and,
pushing the crowd away from immediately about him, he tore open the
envelope and began the perusal--proceeding with a measured gait, the
result as well of the "damned cramp hand" as of the still foggy
intellect and unsettled vision of the reader. But as the characters and
their signification became more clear and obvious to his gaze, his
features grew more and more sobered and intelligent--a blankness
overspread his face--his hands trembled, and finally, his apprehensions,
whatever they might have been, having seemingly undergone full
confirmation, he crumpled the villanous scrawl in his hands, and dashing
it to the floor in a rage, roared out in quick succession volley after
volley of invective and denunciation upon the thrice-blasted head of the
pedler.
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