The Hypocrite

. What in his misery he had thought va

vitable, came a flood of relief. The torture of his brain was swept away as if it h

come to the point, he resolved that he would pose to the last. He bega

y would talk of him wonderingly, as a brilliant life promising great things, gone with its work undone. They would recal

picturing was utterly false; yet, try as he would, he could not stop it. Whether it was the last flicker of intense vanity, or merely that his mind was weakened by debauchery, it is impossible to s

he had turned into Houndsditch, and the roar of t

r paying the rent in advance, he was allowed to take possession. He lit the oil-st

am floated out of the half-open door. The room was long and low of ceiling, each table standing in a separate partition. A large woman, dressed in a scarlet silk blouse, walked

d as he moved a saucer full of salt out of the way of his el

fork till he had paid for what he had ordered. He noticed

steaming mess into his mouth with a curious twist of the wrist, and every now an

er, and with the roar of Whitechapel su

r, dear

I am going to do.

nd only succeeded in being commonplace to the last degree. All his ideas of a tender farewell, a beautiful poetic letter, seemed

te to, but could not. His father he hated and feared; there was no thrill in a letter to him. It all

e the street nearly as bright as in the day-time. The pavement was greasy to walk on, and it was thronged by a va

towards the church, pick

s, smeared with red and white, caught hold of his arm, whispering evil suggestions to

indow, gazing idly at the specimen

Mrs. Le

pleasure of

n of their son'

of them say, "Yes, it was still-born, so she said; but I 'eard it squeak before Annie come out of the room." He passed on. A piano-organ, with a cage of bedraggle

the evening papers. He walked up and down through the rows of stands, as if looking for someone, after a w

its fall with the sense of a curious subjective disturbance in the air around. He felt something was by him in the

away, and he went back towards Houndsditch. Before turning down the long narrow street, he went into

ld distinguish the far-off tinklings of the barrel-organ, which had moved higher up the street. When he got to his roo

with two hatpins and some string, so that the bottle could swing exactly over his pillow. Then he pricked a hole in th

r, but he felt a dull conviction that things were never more un

ight have been good or even great; am I going to die like a rat in a hole? Oh, God!" He said it with all the force and yearning he could put into his voice, trying to force a

r. The situation seemed irresistibly comic. He only chuckled feebly,

r out an impassioned prayer for forgiveness he knew that it was only an attempt to bring some poetry, some pathos, into his last moments

can't I feel? Why? why? Ah! ahh!" He tore a

room came over him. He whimpered like a dog, shrinking into a corner, with staring eyes, not knowing what he did, mut

rom the table, and hung it

t, mechanically winding up his wa

s most unsatisfactory, quite commonplace,

ved his face out of the direct course of the