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. “Get me someone, Oracle. It fell to the ground and smoked ominously. You did not learn that in a convent. It has been said, that the pier of each arch, or lock of Old London Bridge, was defended from the force of the tide by a huge projecting spur called a starling. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. "I know exactly what I have done," replied Spurlock. John, he was between me and the door. Gerald noted the lady’s eyes brighten as she caught sight of him making his way through the throng towards her. The rest was easy.
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