Читать книгу I've been a Gipsying. Rambles among our Gipsies and their children in their tents and vans онлайн

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What a blessed future there would be for our gipsies and other vagabonds, if all their children could sing with tear-fetching pathos, “Whither, pilgrims, are you going,” in a way that would bring their parents often to their knees!

I bade them good-bye, and made my way back to London and home. I was far from well, and it was fortunate I had sent word over-night to my wife, asking her to meet me part of the way from the station, as I was coming by the last train.

The night was dark, very dark and wet, and with a giddy sensation creeping over me, I stepped out of the train and began to wend my way home, reeling about like a drunken man. I staggered and walked fairly well for more than half the distance, till I felt that I must pull up or I should tumble. For a few minutes I stood by a gate, my forehead and hands felt as cold as a lobster, with a clammy sweat upon them. I felt at my pulse, but the deadness of my fingers rendered them insensible to the throbbings of the human gauge fixed in our wrists.