A door slammed. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. She surveyed accommodation that seemed at first merely austere, and became more and more manifestly inadequate as the moments fled by. Well, I shall be sorry to lose him, Mr. But I will disappoint you. 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 no more a murder, but a duel, you understand.
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