My money--the money that might give that boy fresh air, and good doctors
....Say, you believe in hell, don't you? You tell Eldon Parr to keep his
charity,--he can't send any of it in here. And you'd better go back to
that church of his and pray to keep his soul out of hell." . . .

His voice, which had risen even to a higher pitch, fell silent. And all
at once, without warning, Garvin sank, or rather tumbled upon the bed,
sobbing in a way that was terrible to see. The wife stole across the
room, sat down beside him, and laid her hand on his shoulder. . . .

In spite of the intensity of his own anguish, Hodder was conscious of a
curious detachment; and for months afterward particular smells, the sight
of a gasoline stove, a certain popular tune gave him a sharp twinge of
pain. The acid distilling in his soul etched the scene, the sounds, the
odours forever in his memory: a stale hot wind from the alley rattled the
shutter-slats, and blew the door to; the child stirred; and above the
strident, irregular weeping rose main, in ironical contrast, the piano
and the voice across the yard. In that glimpse he had into the heart of
life's terrible mystery he momentarily understood many things: he knew
that behind the abandon of the woman's song was the same terror which
reigned in the room in which he stood . . . .

There were voices in the passageway without, a woman saying in a German
accent,--"It is here, sir."

There was a knock at the door . . . .