She had now the clear and tranquil expression of one whose mind is made up. The night was now advancing, and the party began to think of separating. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. "And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. 8. Voices floated down, but there was no sound of pursuit. 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. gutenberg. ‘Exactement. But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame.
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