Of Human Bondage

It was Saturday – the day on which Philip had promised to pay his landlady. He had been expecting something to turn up all through the week. He had found no work.

He had never been driven to extremities before, and he was so dazed that he did not know what to do. He had at the back of his mind a feeling that the whole thing was a preposterous joke. He had no more than a few coins left, he had sold all the clothes he could do without. He had some books and one or two odds and ends upon which he might have got some money, but the landlady was keeping an eye on his comings and goings: he was afraid she would stop him if he took anything more from his room. The only thing was to tell her that he could not pay his bill. He had not the courage. It was the middle of June. The night was fine and warm. He made up his mind to stay out. He walked slowly along the Chelsea Embankment, because the river was restful and quiet, till he was tired, and then sat on a bench and dozed. He did not know how long he slept. He awoke with a start, dreaming that he was being shaken by a policeman and told to move on; but when he opened his eyes he found himself alone. The night seemed very long. He shivered. He was seized with a sense of his misery; and he did not know what on earth to do: he was ashamed of having slept on the Embankment; it seemed peculiarly humiliating, and he felt his cheeks flush in the darkness. 









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