It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. I put my foot down like—like adamant. Down under the incalculable selfishness of the penitent child there was the man's uneasy recollection of Judas. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. I loved her and made love to her, and I don’t think she quite loved me back in the same way.
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