You can trust me, Anna. He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. Huge trees obscured the view of it. But it is all over now, and presently there will be some one else. Imbecile. Stanley, consenting with dignity. It was a dismal and depressing sight to see a great city thus suddenly overthrown; and the carpenter was deeply moved by the spectacle.
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