When I gave him an invitation to supper, I little thought he'd accept it. “I think that you were inquiring for Mr. 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. “I’ve got nothing in the world to pack with except a toy size portmanteau. ” “Alive! In London!” Annabel moaned.
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