He is a man, and must think. He cannot always drown
thought or memory. He may, and does, fly for false solace to the
drink, and may stun his enemy in the evening, but it will rend him like
a giant in the morning. A flower, or half-remembered tune, a child's
laughter, will sometimes suffice to flood the victim with recollections
that either madden him to excess or send him crouching to his miserable
room, to sit with face buried in his hands, while the hot, thin tears
trickle over his swollen fingers.
I believe this to be one reason why I shrink from society; why I have
so often refused kind invitations; why, though I love my personal
friends as strongly and as truly as any man's friends are ever loved, I
have so steadily withdrawn from social parties, dinners, or
introductions. This is the penalty I must ever pay.
A man can never recover from the effects of such a seven years'
experience, morally or physically.
The month of October had nearly drawn to a close, and on its last
Sunday evening I wandered out into the streets, pondering as well as I
was able to do--for I was somewhat intoxicated--on my lone and
friendless condition.
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