For my part, when I was turned out of the Stag, or the Hind, or whatever it was, I would have set the temple of Diana on fire, if it had been handy. There was no crime complete enough to express my disapproval of human institutions. As for the Cigarette , I never knew a man so altered. “We have been taken for pedlars again,” said he. “Good God, what it must be to be a pedlar in reality!” He particularised a complaint for every joint in the landlady’s body. Timon was a philanthropist alongside of him. And then, when he was at the top of his maledictory bent, he would suddenly break away and begin whimperingly to commiserate the poor. “I hope to God,” he said⁠—and I trust the prayer was answered⁠—“that I shall never be uncivil to a pedlar.” Was this the imperturbable Cigarette ? This, this was he. O change beyond report, thought, or belief!