“It couldn’t be. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. He had said so. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. He did like her, anyhow; he was always pleased to be with her. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. Pity he's ta'en to bad ways so airly.
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