They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. But come in, dear. I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname. They have retired. 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. He was out of breath, and spoke in broken sentences. Want to walk home today? Lucy slipped the paper into her English textbook. All these interesting objects were carefully arranged, classed, and, as we have said, labelled by the thief-taker.
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