As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. That’s the fact of the matter. There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving his life; there would be none at all if he were moved. Like a petulant child he snapped. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application.
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