"What of her?" exclaimed Jack, starting up. I could not have committed this robbery. 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 familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it.
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