I overlooked the mechanical imperfections of your work, the utter lack of finish, the crudeness of your drawing. But, what is it! What did you promise?" "To offer you my heart, my hand, my life," replied Kneebone, falling at her feet. ” Sir John’s reply was incoherent. 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.
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