The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. No— no, it must never be. 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. ‘He’d have been that happy if he’d known how you’re the spit of her, miss. His face changed and she saw, with a stab at her heart, the dawning of irritation in his eyes.
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