Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. 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. Immediately a feathered hat emerged, under which a familiar countenance was visible. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains.
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