The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights. 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. Can you imagine how dreadful it must be for them? Most of them arrive here almost penniless. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. They're gone into the next room. Why am I here—thirty years of loneliness? Because I know women, the good and the bad; and because I could not have the good, I would not take the bad.
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