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. The work itself was refreshingly tonal, Sebastian observed. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him.
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