“Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly. Yes, yes, there is no doubt about it. When he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him. Except for the dull eyes and the extreme pallor of his face, there was nothing else to indicate that he was deep in liquor. There are so many girls nowadays who are quite unpresentable at tea, with their untrimmed laughs, their awful dispositions of their legs when they sit down, their slangy disrespect; they no longer smoke, it is true, like the girls of the eighties and nineties, nevertheless to a fine intelligence they have the flavor of tobacco. She says that everyone in the house makes too much noise, my Dad snores, and that when the house is empty, the traffic noise is nearly deafening. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice.
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