"Oh God!" exclaimed Jack, in a tone of the bitterest anguish. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. In the corner of the room were two hockey-sticks and a tennis-racket, and upon the walls Ann Veronica, by means of autotypes, had indicated her proclivities in art. 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. “Until you marry, Vee,” said Hetty. “How can you change people’s ideas if you have no power?” said Kitty Brett. She was interested by the swearing of the witnesses.
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