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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. You know that, and I know that, though we might be put to it to find a reason why. "Here, Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, "run and fetch a constable. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. Pragmar probably knew Mr. But, as soon as he perceived who it was, he roused himself, and glared fiercely at the intruder from under his bent brows. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. They walked back to 118 hand in hand.
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