Henry has a short story about a lad who was brought up in a village. In school, he used to sit beside a girl and they were fond of each other. He went to the city and fell into evil ways. He became a pickpocket and a petty thief. One day he snatched an old lady’s purse. It was clever work and he was pleased.
And then he saw coming down the street the girl whom he used to know, still sweet with the radiance of innocence. Suddenly, he saw himself for the cheap, vile thing he was.  Burning with shame, he leaned his head against the cool iron of a lamp post.
“God,” he said, “I wish I could die.”
He saw himself.

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