Above the desk was a shelf of books in worn calf bindings, and before it a rickety chair.

A shakedown bed in one corner of the room was tastefully screened from the public gaze by a tattered quilt.
"Boy, don't be afraid.

Look on me as a friend," urged the judge, who towered above him in the dim candle-light.

"Here's comfort without ostentation.

Don't tell me you prefer the tavern, with its corrupt associations!" Hannibal was silent, and the judge, after a brief moment of irresolution, threw open the door.