" "Egad, Jack," said Gay, "you should write your adventures. I don’t think they do matter. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe. 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. Then she called a hansom and drove home. Wood's cries: but, regardless of this, he darted along a passage, gained the shop, and passed through an open door into the street.
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