eat brimstone and treacle.

I felt very sad after dinner. All the things I have done in my life
that I should not have done recurred to me with painful vividness.
(There seemed to be a goodish number of them, too.) I thought of
all the disappointments and reverses I had experienced during my
career; of all the injustice that I had suffered, and of all the
unkind things that had been said and done to me. I thought of all
the people I had known who were now dead, and whom I should never
see again, of all the girls that I had loved, who were now married
to other fellows, while I did not even know their present addresses.
I pondered upon our earthly existence, upon how hollow, false, and
transient it is, and how full of sorrow. I mused upon the
wickedness of the world and of everybody in it, and the general
cussedness of all things.

I thought how foolish it was for B. and myself to be wasting our
time, gadding about Europe in this silly way. What earthly
enjoyment was there in travelling--being jolted about in stuffy
trains, and overcharged at uncomfortable hotels?

B. was cheerful and frivolously inclined at the beginning of our
walk (we were strolling down the Maximilian Strasse, after dinner);
but as I talked to him, I was glad to notice that he gradually grew
more serious and subdued. He is not really bad, you know, only
thoughtless.

B. bought some cigars and offered me one. I did not want to smoke.
Smoking seemed to me, just then, a foolish waste of time and money.
As I said to B.: