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. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. Shari was snoring soundly. Sebastian howled with laughter, doubling over. Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. Her mind jumped with questions as fear raced through her and hardened into a bid for retaliation.
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