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That Frenchie, that’s who she is. The risk I run is nothing to yours. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. ” She replied. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. 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. “That was a moment of madness,” she said. But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised.
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