He stood before her. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. He thought rationally; that is to say, he thought clearly, as a child thinks clearly. I cannot turn into a bat. Old Bedlam 291 IX. 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.
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