This is where my character, Lucia, is coming from. 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. "Or the street," returned Jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me. Still, she knew instinctively that all of Sidney Carton's life had not been put upon the printed page. “I knew you wouldn’t mind. ’ ‘No, no,’ the other lady assured her with a twinkle.
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