I told her it was the end. To-night I locked up my flat at six o’clock. One marked difference between the poor outcast, who, oppressed by poverty, and stung by shame, had sought temporary relief in the stupifying draught,—that worst "medicine of a mind diseased,"—and those of the same being, freed from her vices, and restored to comfort and contentment, if not to happiness, by a more prosperous course of events, was exhibited in the mouth. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up.
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