The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. 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 was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. “I suppose I should let go if I had. ” He hesitated, and walked away from her toward the house. Figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the New Amphitheatre in Marylebone Fields.
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