The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both. Then the storm broke. He trembled violently. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. Around him were all the evidences of plenty. “Are you a special sort of clergyman,” she said, after a pause, and looking down her nose at him, “or do you go to the Universities?” “Oh!” he said, profoundly. . The prospect of the gallows would never deter me from taking to the road, if I were so inclined.
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