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           Sheglancedatmeabovetheglasses.Theswiftandindifferentplacidityofthatlooktroubledme.Twoyouthswithfoolishandcheerycountenanceswerebeingpilotedover,andshethrewatthemthesamequickglanceofunconcernedwisdom.Sheseemedtoknowallaboutthemandaboutme,too.Aneeriefeelingcameoverme.Sheseemeduncannyandfateful.OftenfarawaythereIthoughtofthesetwo,guardingthedoorofDarkness,knittingblackwoolasforawarmpall,oneintroducing,introducingcontinuouslytotheunknown,theotherscrutinizingthecheeryandfoolishfaceswithunconcernedoldeyes.AVE!Oldknitterofblackwool.MORITURITESALUTANT.Notmanyofthoseshelookedateversawheragain—nothalf,byalongway.

           "Therewasyetavisittothedoctor.‘Asimpleformality,’assuredmethesecretary,withanairoftakinganimmensepartinallmysorrows.Accordinglyayoungchapwearinghishatoverthelefteyebrow,someclerkIsuppose—theremusthavebeenclerksinthebusiness,thoughthehousewasasstillasahouseinacityofthedead—camefromsomewhereup-stairs,andledmeforth.Hewasshabbyandcareless,withinkstainsonthesleevesofhisjacket,andhiscravatwaslargeandbillowy,underachinshapedlikethetoeofanoldboot.Itwasalittletooearlyforthedoctor,soIproposedadrink,andthereuponhedevelopedaveinofjoviality.AswesatoverourvermouthsheglorifiedtheCompany’sbusiness,andbyandbyIexpressedcasuallymysurpriseathimnotgoingoutthere.