We leave England to-night. He was an odd one, especially for a young man. ‘I do not understand you. It was not possible for him to have been deceived. The rest were hieroglyphic characters, executed in red chalk and charcoal. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue.
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