Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the
door. "Can you not love him?"
"Love him!" echoed the widow. You can test it out on us this Thanksgiving Sunday. 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. Don't you understand? Back among
your own again, and only a few of us the wiser.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 06-07-2024 14:11:44