Голод

           Wasthereanyrhymeorreasoninthat?Ihadsatinsaddle,toileddayandnightlikeacarrier’shorse.

           Ihadreadmyeyesoutoftheirsockets,hadstarvedthebrainsoutofmyhead,andwhatthedevilhadIgainedbyit?EvenastreethussyprayedGodtodeliverherfromthesightofme.Well,now,thereshouldbeastoptoit.Doyouunderstandthat?Stopitshall,orthedeviltakeaworseholdofme.

           Withsteadilyincreasingfury,grindingmyteethundertheconsciousnessofmyimpotence,withtearsandoathsIragedon,withoutlookingatthepeoplewhopassedmeby.Icommencedoncemoretomartyrmyself,ranmyforeheadagainstlamp-postsonpurpose,dugmynailsdeepintomypalms,bitmytonguewithfrenzywhenitdidn’tarticulateclearly,andlaughedinsanelyeachtimeithurtmuch.

           Yes;butwhatshallIdo?Iaskedmyselfatlast,andIstampedmanytimesonthepavementandrepeated,WhatshallIdo?Agentlemanjustgoingbyremarks,withasmile,"Yououghttogoandasktobelockedup."Ilookedafterhim.Oneofourwell-knownlady’sdoctors,nicknamed"TheDuke."Notevenheunderstoodmyrealcondition—amanIknew;whosehandIhadshaken.Igrewquiet.Lockedup?Yes,Iwasmad;hewasright.Ifeltmadnessinmyblood;feltitsdartingpainthroughmybrain.Sothatwastobetheendofme!Yes,yes;andIresumemywearisome,painfulwalk.TherewasthehaveninwhichIwastofindrest.

           SuddenlyIstopagain.