’ Melusine had crossed to the window that overlooked the front of the house, and was trying to peep through a crack in the shutters. Thought she was a nun at first. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked. The man was thick set, with a bright roving eye. Spurlock stepped into the room. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. They would be quite as entertaining as the histories of Guzman D'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, Estevanillo Gonzalez, Meriton Latroon, or any of my favourite rogues,—and far more instructive.
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