She turned out the electric light and gained the hall. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name. ” Michelle’s voice lowered to a whisper. A young man turned to pay the cabman. 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. ‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away.
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