The Ragged Edge. 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. She went to the table under the end window at which she had been accustomed to work, and found it swept and garnished with full bottles of re-agents. She was dressed as a white woman should be; and that for the present satisfied her instincts. Pure romantic nonsense on her part. Her heart thudded. She had become unashamed of her nudity, altogether unfocused on her appearance. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me.
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