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. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. Hill sat up on the pavement and mopped the blood from his cheek.
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