Oh The Nerves, The Nerves;

Vices Are Sometimes Only Virtues Carried To Excess!

There Was A Little Plate Of Hothouse Nectarines On The Table, And There Was Another Of Grapes, And Another Of Sponge-cakes, And There Was A Bottle Of Light Wine ... 'this Is My Frugal Breakfast ... Give Me My Peach, My Cup Of Coffee, And My Claret.'

And Could I Look Upon Her Without Compassion, Seeing Her Punishment In The Ruin She Was, In Her Profound Unfitness For This Earth On Which She Was Placed, In The Vanity Of Sorrow Which Had Become A Master Mania, Like The Vanity Of Penitence, The Vanity Of Remorse, The Vanity Of Unworthiness, And Other Monstrous Vanities That Have Been Curses In This World?

Such Is Hope, Heaven's Own Gift To Struggling Mortals, Pervading, Like Some Subtle Essence From The Skies, All Things Both Good And Bad.

Pale And Pinched-up Faces Hovered About The Windows Where Was Tempting Food; Hungry Eyes Wandered Over The Profusion Guarded By One Thin Sheet Of Brittle Glass--an Iron Wall To Them; Half-naked Shivering Figures Stopped To Gaze At Chinese Shawls And Golden Stuffs Of India.