Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. 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. It isn't your duty.
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