Dreadful forces, forces of ruin and murder and disgrace, were abroad in the world of men; the menace of the low black clouds and stifling heat was more bearable.

He wanted to get away from his house, which was permeated and soaked in association with the other two actors, who in company with himself, had surely some tragedy for which the curtain was already rung up.

Some dreadful scene was already prepared for them; the setting and stage were ready, the prompter, and who was he?
was in the box ready to tell them the next line if any of them faltered.

The prompter, surely he was destiny, fate, the irresistible course of events, with which no man can struggle, any more than the actor can struggle with or alter the lines that are set down for him.

He may mumble them, he may act dispiritedly and tamely, but he has undertaken a certain part; he has to go through with it.
Though it was a populous hour of the day, there were but few people abroad when Mr.Taynton came out to the sea front; a few cabs stood by the railings that bounded the broad asphalt path which faced the sea, but the drivers of these, despairing of fares, were for the most part dozing on the boxes, or with a more set purpose were frankly slumbering in the interior.