It was Annabel who spoke. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. Her steps slowed. 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. “There’s the whole situation. When at first she had realized that he 206 had conducted a sexual affair with a local well-known Florentine courtesan she called him out, accusing him of exposing her to an array of diseases. —Though if my name should become as famous as theirs, it wouldn't much matter. About nine o'clock, an immense mob collected before the Lodge at Newgate.
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