He said that over and over again, dulling down the death-gnawing of his outraged heart.
Miss Herne was quite contented, sitting by him, with herself, and the admiring world.

She had no notion of trial nights in life.

Not many temptations pierced through her callous, flabby temperament to sting her to defeat or triumph.

There was for her no under-current of conflict, in these people whom she passed, between self and the unseen power that Holmes sneered at, whose name was love; they were nothing but movables, pleasant or ugly to look at, well- or ill-dressed.

There were no dark iron bars across her life for her soul to clutch and shake madly,--nothing "in the world amiss, to be unriddled by and by." Little Margret, sitting by the muddy road, digging her fingers dully into the clover-roots, while she looked at the spot where the wheels had passed, looked at life differently, it may be;--or old Joe Yare by the furnace-fire, his black face and gray hair bent over a torn old spelling-book Lois had given him.