Page:Wilde - De profundis, 1915.djvu/128

108 où mènent les mauvais chemins. . . but I can think with gratitude of those who by kindness without stint, devotion without limit, cheerfulness and joy in giving have lightened ray black burden for me, have visited me again and again, have written to me beautiful and sympathetic letters, have managed my affairs for me, arranged my future life, and stood by me in the teeth of obloquy, taunt and open sneer, or insult even. I owe everything to them. The very books in my cell are paid for by out of his pocket-money; from the same source are to come clothes for me when I am released. I am not ashamed of taking a thing that is given in love and affection ; I am proud of it. Yes, I think of my friends, such as More Adey, R, Robert Sherard, Frank Harris, Arthur Clifton, and what they have been to me, in giving me help, affection, and sympathy. I think of every single person who has been kind to me in my prison life down to the warder who gives me a 'Good-morning' and a 'Good-night' (not one of his prescribed duties) down to the common policemen who, in their homely, rough way strove to com-