Yet he had been so disgraced that he could hardly venture to walk
about the streets of London in the daylight. And then there came upon
him, when he found himself alone at Tretton, an irrepressible desire for
gambling. It was as though his throat were parched with an implacable
thirst. He walked about ever meditating certain fortunate turns of the
cards; and when he had worked himself up to some realization of his old
excitement he would remember that it was all a vain and empty bubble. He
had money in his pocket, and could rush up to London if he would, and if
he did so he could, no doubt, find some coarse hell at which he could
stake it till it would be all gone; but the gates of the A---- and the
B---- and the C---- would be closed against him; and he would then be
driven to feel that he had indeed fallen into the nethermost pit. Were
he once to play at such places as his mind painted to him he could never
play at any other; and yet when the day drew nigh on which he was to go
to London, on his way to Buston, he did bethink himself where these
places were to be found. His throat was parched, and the thirst upon him
was extreme. Cards were the weapons he had used. He had played ecarte,
piquet, whist, and baccarat, with an occasional night of some foolish
game such as cribbage or vingt-et-un.
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