As he crossed the cellar, he passed so near to Jack who had concealed himself behind a piece of furniture that he almost touched him. “He is not—I don’t like him. She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. 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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