"But—sapperment!—I wish they hadn't broken my pipe. ’ ‘Oh, yes I do,’ Martha said, getting up off the bed. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. . She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. He was like a man beside himself. 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.
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