It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. It wailed at Lucy, chubby arms reaching towards her, pleading. “I shall be very glad to have you for a friend,” he said, “loving friend. 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. ’ ‘Yes, I know,’ Gerald put in with an irrepresssible chuckle. ‘I did not think so. More than ever Sir John was glad that he had sat down. He was an officer, and a person of very great sense, and altogether a desirable parti.
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