“Then I suppose that you consider gambling, even to the smallest extent, to be sin?”
“I do.”
“Under which of the ten commandments does it fall?”
“‘Thou shalt not covet.’”
Chapter Fourteen.
Two Remarkable Dreams.
Some natures are better than others. There can be no question about that. Some dispositions are born moderately sweet, others are born slightly sour. If you doubt the fact, reader, go study Nature, or get you to an argumentative friend and dispute the point. We refuse flatly to enter into a discussion of the subject.
Look at that little boy sleeping there under the railway arch in the East End of London—not the boy with the black hair and the hook nose and the square under-jaw, but the one with the curly head, the extremely dirty face, and the dimpled chin, on the tip of whose snub nose the rising sun shines with a power that causes it to resemble a glowing carbuncle on a visage still lying in shadow.