ToC Jack was scarcely concealed when the door opened, and the two persons of whom he had caught a glimpse below entered the room. Oh, you must believe me. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. 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. A father is in debt, we'll say. " "I won't reproach you, Jack," said the other, sternly. I was supposed to do the same, but I didn’t. "Was I out of my head?" "Yes.
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