Nick walked up the dark street to the corner under the arc-light, and then along the car-tracks to Henry's eating-house.

A poor chimney-sweeper, who had not enough money to buy a meal, stopped one hot summer day at noon before an eating-house, and remained regaling his nose with the smell of the victuals.

Even if I am on vacation in the mountains, I am eating food someone else has grown, living in a house someone else has built, wearing clothes someone else has sewn from cloth woven by others, using electricity someone else is distributing to my house.