"If I spoke to him, my interest might be misinterpreted. It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. The first circumstance that struck her on her arrival seemed ominous. The baby boy was delivered in a sea of black blood, born dead and blue, and strangled by plague. 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. “Are there others like you?” “Yes. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail.
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