Ten desolate minutes he
stood there, gazing out sluggishly upon a soggy world. During
this time two wet delivery-wagons and four elderly women under
umbrellas were all that crossed his field of vision. Somewhere in
the world, he thought, there was probably a boy who lived across
the street from a jail or a fire-engine house, and had windows
worth looking out of. Penrod rubbed his nose up and down the pane
slowly, continuously, and without the slightest pleasure; and he
again scratched himself wherever it was possible to do so, though
he did not even itch. There was nothing in his life.
Such boredom as he was suffering can become agony, and an
imaginative creature may do wild things to escape it; many a
grown person has taken to drink on account of less pressure than
was upon Penrod during that intolerable Saturday.
A faint sound in his ear informed him that Della, in the kitchen,
had uttered a loud exclamation, and he decided to go back there.
However, since his former visit had resulted in a rebuff that
still rankled, he paused outside the kitchen door, which was
slightly ajar, and listened.
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