“But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. "You've perjured yourself. ‘Not in the open street. ” Ann Veronica had remained standing while her aunt spoke. I’ve never met any one like you. 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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