” There was a moment’s silence. . ’ Her conversation was wonderful, Gerald decided. 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. ‘Do not mix yourself in mine, and perhaps you will not die. “I am much obliged to you,” he said. Then the incredible happened. He will let you live if it pleases him.
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