A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. 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. Come along, my Newgate bird!" he continued, shaking him with great violence. He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents. Look at me.
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