"I knew it. The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice. ‘Comment? What do you say?’ Gerald looked down into her face, and found himself touched by the uncertainty he saw there. He woke up with a start and the alarm clock read 4:46 P. He certainly bore inspection. Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. I felt as though I had bandaged eyes.
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