“I thought we had discussed that, father. Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at Queenhithe,—whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern. I really am enjoying it. He spoke the automatic thought that entered his mind. “Didn’t you know he was married?” asked Miss Klegg, and was struck by a thought that made her glance quickly at her companion. ‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. It’s all outside the world of your experience.
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