Nothing could occupy her attention long today, unless it concerned her situation. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. “It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head. This girl whom he had met by chance and befriended had done both. 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 wants me to have dinner at his parent’s house tonight,” still looking at a series of spots on the carpeting.
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