All the little, uneventful day was beginning, as it had begun so many times before here in this little, uneventful town, where the world was finished, never more to change.
Franklin shuddered.

Was this, then, to be his life?
He turned to the rows of scuffed-backed law books on their shelves.

Then he turned again to his letter, and to the window, and to the birds and the grass.
He caught himself noting how long the dog's hind leg looked, how impossible the angle between the fore leg and the spine, as it half sat in flea-compelled contortions.
There came a regular tread upon the stair, as there had always for years come at this hour of half past seven in the morning, rain or shine.

Judge Bradley entered, tall, portly, smooth shaven, his silk hat pushed back upon his brow, as was his fashion.

Franklin turned to make the usual morning salutation.
"Good-morning, Ned," said the Judge, affably.
"Good-morning, Judge," said Franklin.