To make the phenomenon still more remarkable, the voice shaped itself into certain well-known words of Shakespeare: "Oh!" boomed this _vox et praeterea nihil_ in rather husky tones, "Oh! that a man should put an enemy in his mouth to steal away his brains!" And then through the mist and darkness came the unmistakable sound of sobs.
"God bless me!" cried Lucian, leaping back, with shaken nerves.

"Who is this?
Who are you ?" "A lost soul!" wailed the deep voice, "which God will not bless!" And then came the sobbing again.
It made Denzil's blood run cold to hear this unseen creature weeping in the gloom.

Moving cautiously in the direction of the sound, he stumbled against a man with his folded arms resting on the railings, and his face bent down on his arms.

He made no attempt to turn when Lucian touched him, but with downcast head continued to weep and moan in a very frenzy of self-pity.
"Here!" said the young barrister, shaking the stranger by the shoulder, "what is the matter with you ?" "Drink!" stuttered the man, suddenly turning with a dramatic gesture.

"I am an object lesson to teetotalers; a warning to topers; a modern helot made shameful to disgust youth with vice." "You had better go home, sir," said Lucian sharply.
"I can't find home.