Death belongs to God, young man. ‘Stay, Saling!’ The butler halted, looking round enquiringly. Run along while I rig up and get the part in my hair straight. 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. I can’t tell anyone certain things about my life. Side by side with the cheese (its never-failing accompaniment, in all seasons, at the carpenter's board) came a tankard of swig, and a toast.
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