AC dBooks

Oh, the wearisome walks I had on Saturday afternoons, wet or dry, down
the Seven Dials, across Trafalgar Square, along Whitehall, round the
eastern end of the Houses of Parliament, and past Westminster Pier (dear
to me from one poignant memory), and so on and on into the monotonous
and inconspicuous streets beyond.
Towards nightfall I would return, generally by the footway across
Hungerford Bridge, which is thereby associated with the most painful
moments of my life, for nowhere else did I feel quite so helpless and so
lonely.
The trains out of Charing Cross shrieking past me, the dark river
flowing beneath, the steamers whistling under the bridge, the
automobiles tooting along the Embankment, the clanging of the electric
cars, the arc lamps burning over the hotels and the open flares blazing
over the theatres--all the never-resting life of London--and myself in
the midst of the tumultuous solitude, a friendless and homeless girl.
But God in His mercy saved me from all that--saved me too, in ways in
which it was only possible to save a woman.


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