Sin may have moments of pleasure, but the
pleasure is but a hollow semblance in advance of seemingly never-ending
hours of remorse and suffering.
More than once I made desperate efforts to escape from my humiliating
thraldom, and, as I was sober during the days of struggle, I sought and
found business, and thus managed to secure a little money, although most of
my clients were poor and anything but influential. I always did my best for
them, however, and seldom lost a case. But at the end of a few days a
strange, undefinable, uneasy feeling began to crawl over me and crept into
my heart; I became more and more restless, anxious and nervous. I was soon
too uneasy to sit still or lie down. Horrible sufferings, agonies untold,
woe unspeakable, deprived me of reason, and when I had the inclination I
had not the will to guide myself aright. Then all of a sudden, my fierce
and unrelenting appetite would sweep, vulture like, down upon me, and I
would feel myself on the point of giving way. After this I would rally
for a brief season, but only to sink into still deeper misery and
desperation. There were days without food, and nights without sleep,
but--God pity me!--not without liquor.
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