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. "The feeling is dead within my breast. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. From suburbs, from country towns—everywhere.
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