" "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. Surely Capes was different. I certainly didn’t mean to kiss you. 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 don’t suppose you could tell me even the derivation of suffrage if I asked you. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. Your attitude to me—” He fell into a brown study. You cannot refuse me this.
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