For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. Wild's figure. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. I tell you this child would have been strangled. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. He still wore his hat, to show that the days of miracles and Christ being civil to sinners are over forever. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. It saved me the bother of being studied. 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. It is a plain case of alcoholic stupor. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. She thrashed and screamed as he wrestled her back towards the bed.
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