It's crool. Her living in
lukshry and getting new milk night and day, and fine clothes being
bought for her constant, and my pore Ted without a roof to cover him in
weather same as this. It breaks my heart. It do indeed. Take your child
away, ma'am. Take her to-night, afore we're turned out of house and home
to-morrow morning."
Before the hysterical cries with which Mrs. Oliver said this had come
to an end I was on my way back to my room at the Jew's. But it was baby
I was thinking of in relation to that cold, clammy night--that it would
be impossible to take her out in it (even if I had somewhere to take her
to, which I had not) without risk to her health and perhaps her life.
With trembling fingers and an awful pain at my heart I took my mother's
miniature from the wall and wrapped it up in tissue paper.
A few minutes afterwards I was back in the damp streets, walking fast
and eagerly, cutting over the lines of the electric trams without
looking for the crossings.
I knew where I was going to--I was going to a pawnbroker's in the Mile
End Waste which I had seen on my West End journeys.
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