CHAPTER I. Spurlock slept on. I have never in my life been so much puzzled by any one as by your sister. 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 believe he’s divorced. “My name is certainly Pellissier,” she said, “but I am very sorry—I do not recognize you in the least. ” He rolled his eyes, trying 190 to conceal pride.
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