"Don't go there," said his companion. "It's small and uncomfortable
and dear. You'll do much better at----"
Without giving a thought to the matter, Otway accepted this advice.
He went to the station, withdrew his bag, and bade a cabman drive
him to the hotel his acquaintance had named. But no sooner had the
cab started than he felt an unaccountable misgiving, an uneasiness
as to this change of purpose. Strange as he was to Liverpool, there
seemed no reason why he should hesitate so about his hotel; yet the
mental disturbance became so strong that, when all but arrived, he
stopped the cab and bade his driver take him to the other house,
that which he had originally chosen. A downright piece of
superstition, he said to himself, with a nervous laugh. He could not
remember to have ever behaved so capriciously.
The hotel pleased him. After inspecting his bedroom, he came down
again to smoke and glance over the newspapers; it was about
half-past nine. Half a dozen men were in the smoking-room; by ten
o'clock there remained, exclusive of Piers, only three, of whom two
were discussing politics by the fireside, whilst the third sat apart
from them in a deep chair, reading a book. The political talk began
to interest Otway; he listened, behind his newspaper. The louder of
the disputants was a man of about fifty, dressed like a prosperous
merchant; his cheeks were flabby, his chin triple or quadruple, his
short neck, always very red, grew crimson as he excited himself.
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