"So did I," answered Jack; "we had better move on. “I love you, you know. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. "I shall do no such thing. I knew where I would go next: Florence. It was the size of my palm. 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.
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