'No, always in one way.'
'Always in the same way?'
'Ay.'
'In the way in which it was really made at last?'
'Ay.'
'And always took the same pleasure in harping on it?'
'Ay.'
For the time he appears unequal to any other reply than this lazy monosyllabic assent. Probably to assure herself that it is not the assent of a mere automaton, she reverses the form of her next sentence.
'Did you never get tired of it, deary, and try to call up something else for a change?'
He struggles into a sitting posture, and retorts upon her: 'What do you mean? What did I want? What did I come for?'
She gently lays him back again, and before returning him the instrument he has dropped, revives the fire in it with her own breath; then says to him, coaxingly:
'Sure, sure, sure! Yes, yes, yes! Now I go al
