He saw the broken photograph, the glass splintered into a thousand pieces.

He saw the man himself, choking, sinking down beneath the black waters; heard the stifled cry from his palsied lips, saw the slow dawning agony of death in his distorted features.

Some one was playing a mandolin down in the second class.

He heard the feet of a dancer upon the deck, the little murmur of applause.

Well, after all, this was life.