Though a thief, Jack Sheppard is a man of his word. You did not see me, I know. 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. Her father was right: Ruth must never know. But I do not even care if I am absurd. Let's get one idea into our heads. “I think that you are very dense. John laughed even harder, his eyes misting over. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit.
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