From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. ’ Mrs Sindlesham shook with laughter. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. 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. Myn Got! haanging runs in some families, Muntmeester. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house.
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