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. At any rate she must see me. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. Down that on the right the young culprit was dragged—along that on the left a fainting woman was borne in the arms of several females. . She would just walk out of the house and go. \"Where have you been, young lady?\" Mike crooned, a large grin on his fat Irish face. He rolled on top of her, pinning her with his arms and forming a tented cage. Miss Charvill. But how close? She glanced about at the shrouded furnishings for possible cover. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed.
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