At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. I am apparently a beast, a pig and an imbecile, too, if memory serves me. But, when I look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,—when I think of that father's shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt he once was,—at such times, Mr. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. Nobody could possibly find him now.
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