“Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. "To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better. 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. ‘Lucky I have you to keep me from Bedlam, then. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. Please to let me go there. The next door neighbor's dog, chained outside, let out a single bark, but was silent as soon as she turned in that direction, instinctively afraid. You understand. Jackson had one of the ugliest countenances imaginable, he had a very fine set of teeth. “It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked.
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