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. What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. Their very furniture had mysteriously a high-browed quality, and Mr. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. Wild has given you some employment, Mr. That’s Italians for you. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her.
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