" "But why not?" The doctor dallied with his teaspoon. The man’s passion was infectious. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. 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. "Stay, dear Thames!—stay!" cried the little girl. The waterman sheltered his mouth with his hand while he spoke, or his voice would have been carried away by the violence of the blast. To—to find myself. To divide the agony into two spheres so that one would mitigate the other.
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