“It was,” she admitted. I wanted it badly. 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. Down there, whisky raises the very devil with white men. ‘Shall we abandon the guard, then, sir?’ ‘Certainly not.
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