have taken him for one who had already been drinking. No; it was only a struggle between his despairing wretchedness and a lifelong habit of mind. Not difficult to foresee which would prevail; the public-house always has its doors open in expectation of such instances. With a gesture which made him yet more like a drunken man, he turned from the pavement and entered….
About nine o’clock in the evening, just when Mrs. Hewlett had put the unwilling children to bed, and had given her baby a sleeping-dose,—it had cried incessantly for eighteen hours,—the door of the room was pushed open. Her husband came in. She stood looking at him,—unable to credit the evidence of her eyes.
“John!”
She laid her hand upon him and stared into his face. The man shook her off, without speaking, and moved staggeringly forward. Then he turned round, waved his arm, and shouted:
