It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. The effort to maintain her self-control was almost superhuman. “Please stop, cabman,” she ordered. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say. They don’t catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little impatient of its—its outer aspects. " "'The thief cometh in the night, and the troop of robbers spoileth without,'" said Wood, who had a text for every emergency.
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