I am so weary of it.

The echoes of my own voice among the arches seem to mock me with my daily drudging round.

No wretched monk who droned his life away in that gloomy place, before me, can have been more tired of it than I am.

He could take for relief (and did take) to carving demons out of the stalls and seats and desks.

What shall I do?
Must I take to carving them out of my heart ?' 'I thought you had so exactly found your niche in life, Jack,' Edwin Drood returns, astonished, bending forward in his chair to lay a sympathetic hand on Jasper's knee, and looking at him with an anxious face.
'I know you thought so.