Promise me one thing before I leave 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. She disengaged her hands and stood up. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice.
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