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“Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. 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. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. You have somewhere to go to in London, I hope. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. “How would you know?” Michelle’s interest was piqued. What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her. "Of course," responded the widow, heaving a deep sigh. She had even tried a needle and a catheter on a victim once, but had found that the process was so frustrating and slow that she barely gained any sustenance and had done the worst thing imaginable: wasted a kill.
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