"I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle. 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. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo. But for perfect satisfaction, he must take a peek into the bedroom. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat.
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