He was no more to them than a dark memory.

"Well, why should I be more ?" he asked himself.

"I am dead, if not buried.

They think me down among the fishes.
My game is done; and when she gets older and understands life better, Kathleen will say, 'Poor Charley--he might have been anything!' She'll be sure to say that some day, for habit and memory go round in a circle and pass the same point again and again.

For me--they take me by the throat--" He put his hand up as if to free his throat from a grip, his tongue touched his lips, his hands grew restless.
"It comes back on me like a fit of ague, this miserable thirst.