"What have you seen?" inquired Lady Trafford. She ran from the knave into the women’s quarters. ‘You’re right. 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. "This gentleman wants a pair of oars," said the landlord. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. " "You are right, Sir," said the worthy carpenter, rising. " "To make him forget the knock?" "Precisely. ’ ‘Oh,’ Gerald uttered, disappointed. Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself.
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