At a turn in the road, he perceived Winifred looking anxiously towards him, and when she discovered him, she waved her hand. He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. “What night will you dine and go to the theatre with me?—and how about Hurlingham on Saturday?” Anna shook her head. 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 was caked with dried muck.
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