“Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. 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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