Could I do that? In this hideous way too? Never! Never! Never! I should
die in the streets first.
I remember that I was making a movement to go back to Ilford (God knows
how), when, on the top of all my brave thinking, came the pitiful
thought of my child. My poor helpless little baby, who had made no
promise and was party to no pledge. She needed nourishment and fresh air
and sunshine, and if she could not get them--if I went back to her
penniless--she would die!
My sweet darling! My Isabel, my only treasure! Martin's child and mine!
That put a quick end to all my qualms. Again I bit my lip until it bled,
and told myself that I should speak to the Very next man who came along.
"Yes, the very next man who comes along," I thought.
I was standing at that moment in the shadow of one of the pilasters of
the loggia, almost leaning against it, and in the silence of the street
I heard distinctly the sharp firm step of somebody coming my way.
It was a man. As he came near me he slowed down, and stopped.
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