As the secret door opened, the sounds within the house came at once to her ears: the tramping of feet above, and the hoarse voices echoing through the mansion. “Muck-headed moral ass! I ought to have done anything. 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. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. Jonathan Wild must have stolen it from her. Forgive me. ’ She shuddered, throwing her hands over her face. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. Do you hear me? Do you hear what I am saying?.
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