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. She felt her canines growing. “Sure, but it’s not like you’re married, you know. What she said is true. God, Lucy, what’s it been, how many years?” “I’m so sorry, John. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. Sampans with fish and fruit and vegetables swarmed about, while overhead gulls wheeled and swooped and circled. ‘Allow me.
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