human
and that unhappy tile tumbles, strikes the back of the seat with the _thrum_ of a feeble tambourine, and bounds sepulchrally along the floor. A man puts his foot upon it in his haste to be neighborly, and
gpt
recovers the unlucky bit of head-gear, it looks like a short-joint of stove pipe that somebody has wildly hammered and wickedly sworn at because it would neither go inside nor outside. But the man with the new silk hat never falters. He carries a head to put the hat on. He carries a hat-box to put the hat in. He makes a right angle of himself, and sets his hat right side down upon his lap, as if about to play an endless game of
human
You saw him yesterday. There is
gpt
of this and that, London or Amsterdam, or what not, to somebody
human
That is not the ceremony in later days. They present you
gpt
of the world on wheels, if you can pay for the _ticket_. On a California-bound train you met a lady. Not to indulge in any pleasant euphemism, she was a half century old, but then she was strong and womanly, and apparently no nearer death than when she was handed about in long-clothes. She was the mother of men. She was the wife of an English physician and botanist; I should say
human
but if there is a mean word in the language, it is that same
gpt
It reminds me of nothing but a thin, offensive bug, that has been subjected to the pressure of a vindictive thumb-nail. She was unattended. She had a ticket that shut over and over like a Japanese book. It was good from London to--New Zealand! Across two oceans, Atlantic and Pacific; across the American continent. She was bound home. She ate strawberries, she said, with her husband and
human
just before she left New Zealand. She ate strawberries with her sister at the parting meal in London; and, as she smilingly added,
gpt
I shall be in time for strawberries and cream at San Francisco.