I don't know how it was, I
had never felt so afraid of being thrown out into the world again. I
suppose it was bodily weakness, want of proper food, and overwork. I
began to feel that the whole world was wronging me. Was there never
to be anything for me but slaving? Was I never to have any enjoyment
of life, like other people? I felt a need of pleasure, I didn't care
how or what. I was always in a fever; everything was exaggerated to
me. What was going to be my future?--I kept asking myself. Was it
only to be hard work, miserably paid, till I died? And I should die
at last without having known what it was to enjoy my life. When I
was allowed to go out--it was very seldom--I walked aimlessly
about the streets, watching all the girls I passed, and fancying
they all looked so happy, all enjoying their life so. I was growing
thin and pale. I coughed, and began to think I was consumptive. A
little more of it and I believe I should have become so really.
"It came to an end, suddenly and unexpectedly. All three, mother and
daughters, had been worrying me through a whole morning, and at last
one of them called me a downright fool, and said I wasn't worth the
bread I ate.
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