Think of living in a place like this--having this every day--common,
like the dust under your feet. Can I ever eat creamed codfish and
johnny-cake again, think you? Hepatica must name the hash by a French
name and serve me grape juice with it, or I can't condescend to eat it.
I say--the smoke is getting a bit thick here for you ladies, isn't it?"
We had been late in coming down, and at many tables people were nearing
the end of the dinner. For some time the odour of expensive cigars had
been growing heavier throughout the room; a blue haze hung over the more
distant tables.
"I don't think my lungs mind it so much as my feelings," I answered. "I
shall never be able to make it seem to me just--just----"
"Try to subdue the expression which dominates your countenance at the
present moment," counselled the Skeptic gently, "or you will be quietly
led away from the scene as dangerous to your fellow-men."
After what seemed like many hours we reached the end of the dinner. I
felt that I should be glad to reach the quiet and comparative purity of
air to be found in the room in which our hosts had received us--a
private drawing-room.
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