See paragraph 1. 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 are too credulous. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it. “So it seems that I was wrong. He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. No! I do not even know that he cares for me. "What is your name?" To-day, however, he broke the monotony.
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