“And starvation.”
The man sighed, glanced at the stars in the vault above, and at the great silver rim of the moon doming the house-tops.
“Often this city,” he said, “this maelstrom of misery, makes me think there is no God.”
Joan’s arm tightened on his.
“Much is dark and strange to us,” she said.
“Dark indeed.”
“You are cast down, dear, to-night.”
“I am heavy of heart.”
She drew very close to him, still gazing in his face.
“Is it so ill with us?”