Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. But it would be too risky. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. 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. The Closing Scene 472 EPOCH THE FIRST.
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