Grose I had an imperative, an almost frantic "Go, go!" before which, in infinite distress, but mutely possessed of the little girl and clearly convinced, in spite of her blindness, that something awful had occurred and some collapse engulfed us, she retreated, by the way we had come, as fast as she could move. But the nightshade of his friend's listlessness seemed to be diffusing in the air around him a tenuous and deadly exhalation and be found himself glancing from one casual word to another on his right or left in stolid wonder that they had been so silently emptied of instantaneous sense until every mean shop legend bound his mind like the words of a spell and his soul shrivelled up sighing with age as he walked on in a lane among heaps of dead language. "But not to the degree to contaminate--" "To contaminate?"--my big word left her at a loss. Hell is a strait and dark and foul-smelling prison, an abode of demons and lost souls, filled with fire and smoke.