Richard, emerging from the heavy shade of Symond's Inn into the sunshine of Chancery Lane--for there happens to be sunshine there to-day--walks thoughtfully on, and turns into Lincoln's Inn, and passes under the shadow of the Lincoln's Inn trees. On many such loungers have the speckled shadows of those trees often fallen; on the like bent head, the bitten nail, the lowering eye, the lingering step, the purposeless and dreamy air, the good consuming and consumed, the life turned sour. This lounger is not shabby yet, but that may come. Chancery, which knows no wisdom but in precedent, is very rich in such precedents; and why should one be different from ten thousand?

Richard, emerging from the heavy shade of Symond's Inn into the sunshine, walks thoughtfully on to Lincoln's Inn, and passes under the shadow of the trees there. On many such loungers have the speckled shadows of those trees fallen; on the bent head, the bitten nail, the lingering step, the purposeless and dreamy air, the life turned sour. This lounger is not shabby yet, but that may come.
