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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 have killed me. “This is all very well,” she said, “but two out of the three are rank deserters— and if the papers tell the truth the third is as bad. Sheppard. ” He closed the door of 109 in her face. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. Wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep it. You promise me you’ll never grow old, you hear?” “I promise.
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