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. There was a flash and a loud report. Go and live somewhere else. He hated himself a little for it. As soon as the manacles were slipped over the prisoner's wrists, and the new padlock secured to the staple, they withdrew. He was wearing a new silk hat, with a slightly more generous brim than its predecessor, and it suited his type of face, robbed his dark eyes a little of their aggressiveness and gave him a solid and dignified and benevolent air. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. “How are ya, buddy? Good job at the concert. We ourselves have been similarly circumstanced.
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