This door was crested with spikes, and guarded on the right by a bristling semicircle of spikes. He whispered in her ear. 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. “He says you are frigid, Madame. But now that this bar is removed, I trust I may, without impropriety, urge it. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self.
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