It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. 8. Earles attended her obsequiously to the door. “I believe after all it’s coming out!” said Miss Stanley. What was the fellow about? Was he being imposed upon? He watched as the man Valade turned back, spreading his hands in the French way. To-day he selected the girl, and gave her the lead-chair. 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.
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