When I have traversed the streets a houseless wanderer, driven with curses from every door where I have solicited alms, and with blows from every gateway where I have sought shelter,—when I have crept into some deserted building, and stretched my wearied limbs upon a bulk, in the vain hope of repose,—or, worse than all, when, frenzied with want, I have yielded to horrible temptation, and earned a meal in the only way I could earn one,—when I have felt, at times like these, my heart sink within me, I have drank of this drink, and have at once forgotten my cares, my poverty, my guilt. I'll dig it up. “You remind me of the story which they tell against us over here, you know—of the Englishman who refused to be saved from drowning because he was unacquainted with his rescuer. " "I hope you never may, my love," humbly acquiesced the carpenter. Blank it was, except for a gate near the bridgehead. ‘Come, I told you I wish to know everything about you. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. "He's audacity enough for anything. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table.
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