It seemed a trifle more flat than the last.
"So many men o' your age and thereabouts," continued Mr.Silk, "think that they're going to live on to eighty or ninety, but there's very few of 'em do.

It's only a short while, Mr.Wilks, and the little children'll be running about over your grave and picking daisies off of it." "Ho, will they ?" said the irritated Mr.Wilks; "they'd better not let me catch 'em at it, that's all." "He's always talking like that now," said Mrs.Silk, not without a certain pride in her tones; "that's why I asked you in to cheer 'im up." "All your troubles'll be over then," continued the warning voice, "and in a month or two even your name'll be forgotten.

That's the way of the world.

Think 'ow soon the last five years of your life 'ave passed; the next five'll pass ten times as fast even if you live as long, which ain't likely." "He talks like a clergyman," said Mrs.Silk, in a stage whisper.
Mr.Wilks nodded, and despite his hostess's protests rose to go.

He shook hands with her and, after a short but sharp inward struggle, shook hands with her son.