"Mr. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away. Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at Queenhithe,—whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern. ‘Not at all ladylike. I wanted you to know.
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