I tell you, I am sick of it! Why can't we be as other people, reasonable and patient--that's the thing, to be patient, and just bide our time.

We can't live like millionaires on my income, what's the use of trying--I tell you we are fools!" "Are matters so desperate with us ?" Evelyn asked.

"And is it all my fault ?" "I can't do anything to pull up unless you help, me," Langham said.
"Well, are matters so desperate ?" she repeated.
He did not answer her at once.
"Bad enough," he replied at length and was silent.
A sense of terrible loneliness swept over him; a loneliness peopled with shadows, in which he was the only living thing, but the shadows were infinitely more real than he himself.

He had the brute instinct to hide, and the human instinct to share his fear.

He poured himself a drink.
Evelyn watched him with compressed lips as he drained the glass.