Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?" "Don't upbraid me!" rejoined the woollen-draper. As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. “It’s very late. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. "Begone! or I fire!" he cried. 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.
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