I hate what I am. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. “I have been training myself to look askance at beautiful things. While involved in this crowd, near Temple Bar, —where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,—an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child. His looks were fixed on his old benefactor.
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