Indeed, almost insensibly Ann Veronica became habituated to the peculiar appearance and the peculiar manners of the people “in the van. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. The whole story of your relationship is a fabrication. “I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared. On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. 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. "Let's try, at all events," returned the Amazon.
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