"When it thunders, the thief becomes honest," muttered Wood. At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it. It was necessary to think, and think quickly. 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. He still wore his hat, to show that the days of miracles and Christ being civil to sinners are over forever. He was helpful, but gravely dubious. “It was my sister Anna. She cried out with the pain of it. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. A granddaughter of mine!’ The idiocy of this notion stuck in his craw and he could think of nothing else for a moment.
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