At last, she breathed. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. ‘I try to be. ’ She thrust him out of the room and made for the stairs. In one of these seats, at the end of the aisle farthest removed from the chancel, the widow took her place, and addressed herself fervently to her devotions. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood. Surely it was a dream. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. The hansom drove off.
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