A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. Perhaps the boys had already faced off and he had missed it, he thought sourly. 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. "Where?" "That can wait," she answered. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. " "He protect you," retorted Blueskin, maliciously; "you haven't a worse enemy on the face of the earth than Jonathan Wild. Shotbolt," cried the turnkey, "I've good news for you. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. She donned her gloves. And look down, so.
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