” She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows—a look of whimsical incredulity. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account. 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. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. “A young man comes into life asking how best he may place himself,” Ramage had said; “a woman comes into life thinking instinctively how best she may give herself. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. And yet he knew that his skill was equal to that of any fashionable practitioner in Hong-Kong. She addressed an envelope to Ramage, and scrawled on a half-sheet of paper, “The rest shall follow. It still failed in something. No doubt there’s some little mistake.
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