Sebastian snorted, “If it isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black!” “Your house is host to the lowest forms of life, those without morals! I will no longer allow my children to live 210 in such a house. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. The hansom sped through the crowded streets. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. It was empty.
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