The
chrysanthemums changed color with every phase of the sunset; there was a
wail in the autumn wind as though the trees and flowers were mourning
over their coming fate. There was something of sadness in the whole
aspect of nature.
The doctor evidently shared it. The face looking from the window was
anything but a cheerful one. Perhaps it was not the most judicious
manner in which the doctor could have spent his time--above all, if he
wished to give people an impression that he had a large practice. But
Dr. Letsom had ceased to be particular in the matter of appearances. He
was to all intents and purposes a disappointed man. Years before, when
his eyes were bright with the fires of youth, and hope was strong in his
heart, he had invested such money as he possessed in the purchase of a
practice at Castledene, and it had proved to be a failure--why, no one
exactly knew.
Castledene was one of the prettiest little towns in Kent. It had a
town-hall, a market-place, a weekly market, and the remains of a fine
old castle; but it was principally distinguished for its races, a yearly
event which brought a great influx of visitors to the town.
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