What does it matter what color my eyelids are?
what size my nose is?
or how beblubbered my cheeks?
Not a soul will see them, except my maid, and I am naturally indifferent as to the effect I produce upon her.

I look at the clock on the mantel-piece.
It has stopped--ornamental clocks mostly do--but even this trivial circumstance adds to my affliction.

I instantly take out my pocket-handkerchief, and begin to cry again.

Then I look at my watch; a quarter-past seven only--and my watch always gains! Two hours and three-quarters before I can, with the smallest semblance of decency, go to bed.

Meanwhile I am hungry.