"I am sorry to leave you, miss.

You know best.

But please not to sit by an open window; nothing is more dangerous." "Except a great bunch of steel keys," I replied; and gazing at her nice retreating figure, saw it quickened, as a flash of lightning passed, with the effort of both hands to be quit of something.
The storm was dreadful; and I kept the window shut, but could not help watching, with a fearful joy, the many-fingered hazy pale vibrations, the reflections of the levin in the hollow of the land.

And sadly I began to think of Uncle Sam and all his goodness; and how in a storm, a thousandfold of this, he went down his valley in the torrent of the waves, and must have been drowned, and perhaps never found again, if he had not been wearing his leathern apron.
This made me humble, as all great thoughts do, and the sidelong drizzle in among the heavy rain (from the big drops jostling each other in the air, and dashing out splashes of difference) gave me an idea of the sort of thing I was--and how very little more.

And feeling rather lonely in the turn that things had taken, I rang the bell for somebody; and up came Stixon.
"Lor', miss! Lor', what a burning shame of Prick!--'Prick' we call her, in our genial moments, hearing as the 'k' is hard in Celtic language; and all abroad about her husband.