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"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. 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. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same.
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This video was uploaded to tructiepcauthongthuongde.org on 20-09-2024 17:42:08
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