‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. As she talked she made weak little gestures with her hands, and she thrust her face forward from her bent shoulders; and she peered sometimes at Ann Veronica and sometimes at a photograph of the Axenstrasse, near Fluelen, that hung upon the wall. It may be a long string, long enough if you like to tangle up all sorts of people; but there it is! If the paymaster pulls, home she must go. Lucy stared at the girl for a long ten seconds, and then looked away. 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. ’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally. He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind.
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