The Man.
Yes. Even as I jested there uprose before me—there, in that dark corner—the terrible figure of Starvation! Do you not see it now? Its hands are stretched forth as in piteous appeal, like those of some poor child which is lost in a forest and keeps crying out in a voice of childish agony—a voice which echoes and re-echoes in the deserted wilds—"Help me, or I die! Help me, or I die!"—and there is none to hear! Look, my wife, look! See how those dark shadows quiver and float, like volumes of black smoke belched forth from some deep shaft leading down to the pit of hell! See! see! I am being drawn into them!
His Wife.
Oh, I am terrified! I dare not look into that corner!—But, nay, nay; 'twas only in the street you saw all this?
The Man.
Yes, it was only in the street; but soon I shall be seeing it in this room.
His Wife.
No, no! God would never permit it!
The Man.
But why not? Does He not permit it to happen to other people?