“Miserable bounder,” he murmured. I've despatched him to the New Prison. Ennison spoke at last. Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all opposition. 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. Mary is very good, but she is too nervous to be the slightest protection. So long as she could remember, her father had never permitted her to sit at the table unless she came fully dressed.
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