Wine was brought in; I
played in furious scorn of consequences. I saw the board covered with
gold. I swept it into my stake; I soon saw my stake reduced to nothing.
My eyes were dazzled, my hand shook, my brain was on fire, I sang,
danced, roared with exultation or despair. How the night closed, I know
not; but I found myself at last in a narrow room, surrounded with
squalidness, its only light from a high-barred window, and its only
furniture the wooden tressel on which I lay, fierce, weary, and
feverish, as if I lay on the rack. From this couch of the desperate, I
was carried into the presence of a magistrate, to hear that in the
_melee_ of the night before, I had in my rage charged my honest-faced
acquaintance with palpable cheating; and having made good my charge by
shewing the loaded dice in his hand, had knocked him down with a
violence that made his recovery more than doubtful. He had seen my name
in the Gazette, and had watched me for the express purpose of final
plunder. The wretch died. I was brought to trial, found guilty of
manslaughter, and sentenced to seven years' expatriation.
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