“Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. ’ ‘It cannot be helped now. " The Wastrel laughed. ’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at Queenhithe,—whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern. "Nothing whatever," rejoined the thief-taker, coldly. She backed away from him. They were terrible, horrible people.
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