Just now and here, it seems a peculiarly strange one.
But we must take things in turn." His words had a singular aptness, for he had hardly uttered them when Roderick came out from the house, evidently in his darkest mood.

He stood for a moment gazing hard at the view.
"It 's a very beautiful night, my son," said his mother, going to him timidly, and touching his arm.
He passed his hand through his hair and let it stay there, clasping his thick locks.

"Beautiful ?" he cried; "of course it 's beautiful! Everything is beautiful; everything is insolent, defiant, atrocious with beauty.

Nothing is ugly but me--me and my poor dead brain!" "Oh, my dearest son," pleaded poor Mrs.Hudson, "don't you feel any better ?" Roderick made no immediate answer; but at last he spoke in a different voice.

"I came expressly to tell you that you need n't trouble yourselves any longer to wait for something to turn up.