I am practically alone.

There is nothing in my life that is pleasant or delightful.

It's all work and worry with people who are nothing to me." As he said this, Hurstwood really imagined that his state was pitiful.
He had the ability to get off at a distance and view himself objectively--of seeing what he wanted to see in the things which made up his existence.

Now, as he spoke, his voice trembled with that peculiar vibration which is the result of tensity.

It went ringing home to his companion's heart.
"Why, I should think," she said, turning upon him large eyes which were full of sympathy and feeling, "that you would be very happy.