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’ Gerald grinned. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again. 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 chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. . "After all our pains we were near losing him, Sir Rowland. Ever and again Capes appealed to Ann Veronica.
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