Lucy gestured to Michelle to follow her downstairs. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. It engulfed them in black, white, and gray. The tapstress was full of curiosity; but she appeared more easy than the others. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. 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.
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