She would have to spend the night in the workhouse, and then?
She did not know.... All sorts of thoughts came upon her unsolicited, and
she walked on and on. At last she rested her burden on the parapet of a
bridge, and saw the London night, blue and gold, vast water rolling, and
the spectacle of the stars like a dream from which she could not
disentangle her individuality. Was she to die in the star-lit city, she
and her child; and why should such cruelty happen to her more than to the
next one? Steadying her thoughts with an effort, she said, "Why not go to
the workhouse, only for the night?... She did not mind for herself, only
she did not wish her boy to go there. But if God willed it...."
She drew her shawl about her baby and tried once more to persuade herself
into accepting the shelter of the workhouse. It seemed strange even to her
that a pale, glassy moon should float high up in the sky, and that she
should suffer; and then she looked at the lights that fell like golden
daggers from the Surrey shore into the river. What had she done to deserve
the workhouse? Above all, what had the poor, innocent child done to
deserve it? She felt that if she once entered the workhouse she would
remain there. She and her child paupers for ever. "But what can I do?" she
asked herself crazily, and sat down on one of the seats.
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