Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. 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. A species of vertigo seized him. The teacher turned towards the blackboard to inscribe the names of Capulet and Montague. But, as he made no answer, he was removed. ’ ‘Now then, missie,’ began the sergeant severely, ‘just you hand over that dagger. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. She felt that perhaps, in her desire to play an adequate part in the conversation, she had talked rather more freely than she ought to have done, and given him a wrong impression of herself. He had known she would be shocked, but he was equally certain Melusine would have refused to see her grandfather had she been forewarned.
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