G'night, kids. Sheila decided to do a little laundry one day, clothes that were in Lucy’s hamper, a dirty clothes bin that Lucy had insisted that she have for herself separate from the family one. I have a good memory, you perceive, Sir Rowland. They talked across their meal in an easy and friendly manner about Ann Veronica’s affairs. 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. Be warned by your father's fate. It was the grand nursery of vice.
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