It was the grand nursery of vice. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. For the first time that day, she was finally able to look into his face. Stanley.
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