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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. A brief calm succeeded. His tongue was hot. Here he obtained some breakfast, and mounting the hill turned off into the fields on the right. “You know—,” said Mr. She had not at first the power for concealment. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. E below.
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