John Sheppard. 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 perspiration stood out upon his forehead. She brought Sebastian’s chloroformed rag up to his face with her right. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield.
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