” A momentary bitterness crept into Anna’s tone. The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. Sheppard is Constance Trenchard," replied Jonathan, maliciously. Ludicrously loud sounds streamed from the array of speakers. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. She might even forgive him. 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. ” “Not long ago,” she said, “you left me in anger, partly because of this exchange of identities between Annabel and myself.
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