The few books he owned were placed on hanging shelves; among them
those which he had purchased for Clara since their marriage. But
reading was as much a thing of the past as drawing. Never a moment
when his mind was sufficiently at ease to refresh itself with other
men's thoughts or fancies. As with John Hewett, so with himself; the
circle of his interests had shrivelled, until it included nothing
but the cares of his family, the cost of house and food and firing.
As a younger man, he had believed that he knew what was meant by the
struggle for existence in the nether world; it seemed to him now as
if such knowledge had been only theoretical. Oh, it was easy to
preach a high ideal of existence for the poor, as long as one had a
considerable margin over the week's expenses; easy to rebuke the men
and women who tried to forget themselves in beer-shops and
gin-houses, as long as one could take up some rational amusement
with a quiet heart. Now, on his return home from labour, it was all
he could do not to sink in exhaustion and defeat of spirit.
Shillings and pence; shillings and pence--never a question of
pounds, unfortunately; and always too few of them.
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