’ ‘Now then, missie,’ began the sergeant severely, ‘just you hand over that dagger. ” The cabman, knocking with the butt end of his whip upon the window, reminded her that he was in a similar predicament. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. 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 thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. .
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