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. Ann Veronica sat back with a sigh of relief. “The man is dangerous. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. I have a new cult to teach, a new enthusiasm. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. In that sense, my strategy worked.
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