Stanley wanted to object strongly, but as he could not immediately think how to put it, he contented himself with a grunt, and the motion was carried. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. Sheppard reached the debtor's garrison. 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. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. Lucy tried not to make her cringe noticeable. Horrid snorters! So long, Vee! Just suggested it. It was instantly answered by the deep note of St. Sheppard, returning his embrace with all a parent's tenderness.
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