"At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. “I think you are getting to understand me better. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. “No, I must have had hope lurking somewhere too. She was perplexed by this, and stood for some seconds in the empty street hesitating, until the appearance of another circumspect woman under the street lamp at the corner reassured her. She wanted to come, and I wouldn't let her. ‘Aha,’ grunted Gerald with satisfaction, squinting up at the two open shutters on the second floor.
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