He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both. "So I think," replied Kneebone, again applying to the snuff-box, and by that means escaping the angry glance levelled at him by his companion. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. “Rubbish!” he answered. This gloom was impossible. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him. "It was silly.
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