” He was suddenly resentful. In a sense it alters nothing. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. The door popped open with a sigh. 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. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. ‘Only perhaps I can more readily do so if you will put down that pistol. They are born idiots, incurably insane. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. Long ago.
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