My bed is a bundle of filthy straw, my food a crust or a bone, my garments rags from the gutters.

And yet I accept my fate, since you are rich and well and happy." "My poor, poor Miriam! Let me go and get you something to eat, and a glass of wine to refresh you.

It is dreadful to see any human being so destitute." She started impetuously up, but Miriam stretched forth her hand to detain her, her fierce eyes flaming up.
"Not half so dreadful, Mollie Dane, as the eating the bread or drinking the cup of Carl Walraven! No; I told him before, and I tell you now, I would die in a kennel, like a stray dog, before I would accept help from him." "Miriam!" Miriam made an impatient gesture.
"Don't let us talk about me.

Let us talk about yourself.

It is my first chance since you came here.