"That's very likely. It's a tainting sort of weather."
"It IS a tainting sort of weather," says Mr. Snagsby, "and I find it sinking to the spirits."
"By George! I find it gives me the horrors," returns Mr. Weevle.
"Then, you see, you live in a lonesome way, and in a lonesome room, with a black circumstance hanging over it," says Mr. Snagsby, looking in past the other's shoulder along the dark passage and then falling back a step to look up at the house. "I couldn't live in that room alone, as you do, sir. I should get so fidgety and worried of an evening, sometimes, that I should be driven to come to the door and stand here sooner than sit there. But then it's very true that you didn't see, in your room, what I saw there. That makes a difference."

"That's very likely. It's a tainting sort of weather."
"It is," says Mr. Snagsby. "I find it sinking to the spirits."
"By George! It gives me the horrors," returns Mr. Weevle.
"You live in a lonesome room, with a black past," says Mr. Snagsby. "I couldn't live in that room, sir. But then you didn't see, in your room, what I saw. That makes a difference."
