"Yea, by God's rood, I trusted you too well!" In the hall we part without a word, and I, spiritlessly, mount the staircase alone.

How I flew down it this morning, three steps at a time, and had some ado to hinder myself from sliding down the banisters, as we have all often, with dangerous joy, done at home! Now I crawl up, like some sickly old person.

When I reach my bedroom, I throw myself into the first chair, and lie in it-- "...

quiet as any water-sodden log Stayed in the wandering warble of a brook." I do not attempt to take off my hat and jacket.

Of what use is it to take them off more than to leave them on, or to leave them on more than to take them off?
Of what use is _any thing_, pray?
What a weary round life is! what a silly circle of unfortunate repetitions! eating only to be hungry again; waking only to sleep; sleeping only to wake! At first I am too inert even to think, even to lift my hand to protect my cheek from Vick's muddy paws, who, annoyed at my evident inattention to her presence, is sitting on my lap, making little impatient _clawings_ at my defenseless countenance.