Chapter Twenty-Two
The angel on the sign swinging over the tavern door faced an old man with a scythe on the opposite side of a setting sun. From the stable across the road Duncan watched the sign sway in the breeze, wondering if the austere Quaker innkeeper had chosen the image to dissuade the revelers that frequented the other inns of Lancaster. The World’s End, though not the most prosperous, was certainly the most respectable of the establishments in the community, well chosen by the committeemen for its quiet location at the edge of town, with the stable and Sabbath meetinghouse its only close neighbors.
The quick song of a lark came from the loft overhead and Duncan edged closer to the partially open door. An ornate coach was arriving from the direction of Philadelphia, the two gua
