I am very good at guessing names. 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. The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the better to see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere.
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