She were brought to bed a few days after Miss Mary. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. 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 iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. They then took off their boots, and crept stealthily up stairs, treading upon the point of their toes so cautiously, that not a board creaked beneath their weight.
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