“I can’t. No, I thank you. You don’t know. "By desire of his Majesty," said the jailer, consequentially. She turned there, clasped her hands behind her back and put up her chin. 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.
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