have put in. For instance: I should have put in the foreground your being so much respected as Lay Precentor, or Lay Clerk, or whatever you call it, of this Cathedral; your enjoying the reputation of having done such wonders with the choir; your choosing your society, and holding such an independent position in this queer old place; your gift of teaching (why, even Pussy, who don’t like being taught, says there never was such a Master as you are!), and your connection.”
“Yes; I saw what you were tending to. I hate it.”
“Hate it, Jack?” (Much bewildered.)
“I hate it. The cramped monotony of my existence grinds me away by the grain. How does our service sound to you?”
“Beautiful! Quite celestial!”
“It often sounds to me quite devilish. I am so weary of it. The echoes of my own voice among the arches seem to mock me with my daily drudging round. No wretched monk who droned his life away in that gloomy place, before me, can have been more tired of it than I am. He could take for relief (and did take) to carving demons out of the stalls and seats and desks. What shall I do? Must I take to carving them out of my heart?”
“I thought you had so exactly found your niche in life, Jack,” Edwin Drood returns, astonished, bending forward in his chair to lay a sympathetic hand on Jasper’s knee, and looking at him with an anxious face.
“I know you thought so. They all think so.”
“Well, I suppose they do,” says Edwin, meditating aloud. “Pussy thinks so.”
“When did she tell you that?”