But Jonathan was not to be deterred. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. 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. If you can tell me nothing I don’t already know, so be it. “Quite an unimportant one,” he assured her. ” The detective thrust his notebook into his pocket.
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