But it appeared that the help of God availed little against the views of one Mrs.Green, who kept the beer-shop in Rosoman Street, once Mrs.Peckover's, and who could on no account afford to lose so good a customer.

For many years that house, licensed for the sale of non-spirituous liquors, had been working Mrs.Candy's ruin; not a particle of her frame but was vitiated by the drugs retailed there under the approving smile of civilisation.

Spirits would have been harmless in comparison.

The advantage of Mrs.Green's ale was that the very first half-pint gave conscience its bemuddling sop; for a penny you forgot all the cares of existence; for threepence you became a yelling maniac.
Poor, poor creature She was sober to-night, sitting over the fire with her face battered into shapelessness; and now that her fury had had its way, she bitterly repented invoking the help of the law against her husband.

What use?
what use?
Perhaps he had now abandoned her for good, and it was certain that the fear of him was the only thing that ever checked her on the ruinous road she would so willingly have quitted.
But for the harm to himself, the only pity was he had not taken her life outright.