For even yet Tom Drift had this much of hope left in him--that he knew he was fallen, and was miserable at the thought.

His self-respect and sensitiveness had been growing less day by day, and he himself growing proportionately hardened; but still he knew what remorse was, and by the very agony of his shame was still held out of the lowest of all depths--the depths of ruthless sin.
The stranger in the shop eyed him keenly, and when he had gone said to the pawnbroker, "He's a nice article, he is!" "Not much good, I'm thinking," observed the pawnbroker, dryly.
"So you may say; I know the beauty.

He banged me on the 'ed with a chair once, when he was screwed.

Never mind, I know of two or three as is after him." And so saying, the disreputable man departed.
After that Tom came daily.

Now it was an article of clothing, now some books, now some furniture, that he brought.