Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. Cut it as short as you can. Her little white hand stole across the table. works. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. You have never seen the child within your arms perishing from hunger, and no relief to be obtained. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air.
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