" "Well, Sir, his name?" "Jonathan Wild. Wild on his guard against an assassin. You cannot depart hence. I want to enrich it with hangings and gladden it with verses. He had absorbed her in a single glance, and was now defining her as he worked. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. 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. He passed but a cursory glance over the formal certificate that identified the Frenchman before him as one André Valade, distant cousin to the Vicomte Valade.
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