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Capes?” she heard her aunt saying. Critically, she stared at her own features. The lips were straight and pale, the chin aggressive, the nose indomitable. 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. ‘I think you’ve gone stark, staring crazy. “And what will Mr. .
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