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. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. Seconds went by, and the cannon fired just as Rhea descended upon Lucy. She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her. Even this man had accepted her for “Alcide” without a moment’s question. She listened with growing apprehension to the tale that Gerald told, omitting any mention of pistols and daggers, and at the end delivered herself of various expletives highly unsuited to a lady of her advanced years. "Can't you see? I can't hurt her, if … if she cares! I can't tell her I'm a madman as well as a thief!… What a fool! What a fool!" A thief. \"Oh, the movie? It was okay. Sheppard, anxiously.
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