For heavy work he was altogether unfit; and had it not been for a bottle companion--a merry, hard-drinking shoemaker--he would have died of starvation or sunk into beggary.
This man taught him his trade, and George was glad enough to work at it, both to deaden the stings of conscience and memory, and to procure the means of deadening them still further.

But even here was something in the way of improvement, for hitherto he had applied himself to nothing, his being one of those dreamful natures capable of busy exertion for a time, but ready to collapse into disgust with every kind of effort.
How Gibbie had got thus far alive was a puzzle not a creature could have solved.

It must have been by charity and ministration of more than one humble woman, but no one now claimed any particular interest in him--except Mrs.Croale, and hers was not very tender.
It was a sad sight to some eyes to see him roving the streets, but an infinitely sadder sight was his father, even when bent over his work, with his hands and arms and knees going as if for very salvation.

What thoughts might then be visiting his poor worn-out brain I cannot tell; but he looked the pale picture of misery.
Doing his best to restore to service the nearly shapeless boots of carter or beggar, he was himself fast losing the very idea of his making, consumed heart and soul with a hellish thirst.

For the thirst of the drunkard is even more of the soul than of the body.
When the poor fellow sat with his drinking companions in Mistress Croale's parlour, seldom a flash broke from the reverie in which he seemed sunk, to show in what region of fancy his spirit wandered, or to lighten the dulness that would not unfrequently invade that forecourt of hell.