If You Can't Get To Be Oncommon

My Dear Young Lady, Crime, Like Death, Is Not Confined To The Old And Withered Alone. The Youngest And Fairest Are Too Often Its Chosen Victims.

Can I View Thee Panting, Lying On Thy Stomach, Without Sighing; Can I Unmoved See Thee Dying On A Log Expiring Frog!

And Yet I Love Him. I Love Him So Much And So Dearly, That When I Sometimes Think My Life May Be But A Weary One, I Am Proud Of It And Glad Of It. I Am Proud And Glad To Suffer Something For Him, Even Though It Is Of No Service To Him, And He Will Never Know Of It Or Care For It.

It Is Known, To The Force Of A Single Pound Weight, What The Engine Will Do; But, Not All The Calculators Of The National Debt Can Tell Me The Capacity For Good Or Evil, For Love Or Hatred, For Patriotism Or Discontent, For The Decomposition Of Virtue Into Vice, Or The Reverse.

The First Diabolical Character Who Intruded Himself On My Peaceful Youth (as I Called To Mind That Day At Dullborough), Was A Certain Captain Murderer. This Wretch Must Have Been An Off-shoot Of The Blue Beard Family, But I Had No Suspicion Of The Consanguinity In Those Times. His Warning Name Would Seem To Have Awakened No General Prejudice Against Him, For He Was Admitted Into The Best Society And Possessed Immense Wealth. Captain Murderer's Mission Was Matrimony, And The Gratification Of A Cannibal Appetite With Tender Brides.