He Did Each Single Thing As If

The Broken Heart. You Think You Will Die, But You Just Keep Living, Day After Day After Terrible Day.

It Had Grown Darker As They Talked, And The Wind Was Sawing And The Sawdust Was Whirling Outside Paler Windows. The Underlying Churchyard Was Already Settling Into Deep Dim Shade, And The Shade Was Creeping Up To The Housetops Among Which They Sat. "as If," Said Eugene, "as If The Churchyard Ghosts Were Rising."

If They Would Rather Die, . . . They Had Better Do It, And Decrease The Surplus Population.

Their Demeanor Is Invariably Morose, Sullen, Clownish And Repulsive. I Should Think There Is Not, On The Face Of The Earth, A People So Entirely Destitute Of Humor, Vivacity, Or The Capacity For Enjoyment.

"why, I Don't Exactly Know About Perjury, My Dear Sir," Replied The Little Gentleman. "harsh Word, My Dear Sir, Very Harsh Word Indeed. It's A Legal Fiction, My Dear Sir, Nothing More."