"Mr. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp. 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. “Never mind. "You're a bold fellow, Jack," rejoined the blacksmith. As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it. Everything had stayed the same during the centuries.
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