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. Her thoughts took words for themselves. Place a pistol at my ear, and shoot me, if I've told you false. “That sounds quite absurd,” she answered. “Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. Then the foremost bowed and passed on. Her father became much less distant towards his only daughter in the days that followed.
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