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THE CARTER AND THE CARPENTER
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they thought, but to chance it was all that remained to us. It was Poplar, or the streets and night. Both men were anxious for a bed, for they were about gone, as they phrased it. The Carter, fifty-eight years of age, had spent, the last three
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Casual Ward of Whitechapel Workhouse. |
nights without shelter or sleep, while the Carpenter, sixty-five years of age, had been out five nights.
But, O dear, soft people, full of meat and blood, with white beds and airy rooms waiting you each night, how can I make you know what it is to suffer as you would suffer if you spent a weary night on
