"You'll never return. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. One could go to him and tell him one loved him. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. 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. “Well, I have said what I had to say, stumblingly and badly, and baldly. Send you the shirt. The sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation. Besides, I acted for others, and not for myself. There is Lady Arlingford’s reception to-night, ten till twelve, and the Hatton House ball, marked with a cross, sir, important. She backed away from him. . A sense of impending disaster was upon him. ’ He fitted the hat onto her head, and was aware as he did so of her eyes watching his face.
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