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“Do you mean to say that you have been here ever since I came?” “I am afraid that I must confess it,” he answered. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would leave. Lucy stood in front of the piano. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. " "But I'm a poor man. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. It doesn’t mean that these men deserve to die for whatever they have done, John. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. But we were both pledged to secrecy, and I couldn’t reveal my part for fear that I would lose my place. 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.

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