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I don’t conceal it. In twenty minutes we meet in the hall, remember. Perhaps her granddaughter might marry his grandson. 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. “Muck-headed moral ass! I ought to have done anything. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms. He really deserves a better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent. I am quite clear about this. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible. Kneebone, respecting the lawless career of Jack Sheppard, and struck with the probable fate that awaited him, the young man, as he contemplated this scene, fell into a gloomy reverie. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets.
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