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. Out of all this we have struck a sort of harmony. I want you to be my lover. Have we not received Lady Bicknacre just this morning? Not to mention the Comtesse de St Erme. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head.
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