Wood hadn't struck me. 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. I have an aunt who is coming to live with me, and I do not intend to receive any visitors at all. “Want to see the upstairs?” “Sure. Mr. With Jack so badly injured, how would she get him home? How get herself home, now that Trodger had arrested her. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted.
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