I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. The hansom drove off. Vanity was a vice not just to be deprecated, but effectively strangled at birth. He was also aware that all his arguments would shatter themselves against her resolutions. I could not keep away any longer. Anna left the room on tiptoe. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. This done, she waited at the side of the bed; but he gave no sign that he was conscious of her nearness. She gave her lips to his without resistance. 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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