’ Gerald sat back in his chair, thinking hard. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. 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. ” Dessert was served. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head.
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