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 needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption. This was followed by heavy footsteps, and in another moment the dining-room door was flung open. He had something across his knees. I couldn't accept anything from you. “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, and stared over her shoulder out of the window. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. Who are you going with?\" \"Nobody. Good night.
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