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. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. Had he found the secret door? Running to the centre, she tried to judge where the knocking came from. Ireton; for may I be hanged myself if I don't believe he'll be as good as his word. Without care he will die.
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