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 fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. “I should like to understand you,” he said. She addressed her letters, meditated on them for a time, and then took them out and posted them. McClintock laughed as he gave the letter to Ruth. He had quite enough to see to and worry about in the City without their doing things. You'd better lose no time.
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