Stanley allowed his paper to drop a little, and scrutinized the hats and brows of their three fellow-travellers. For thirty years I have lived alone; but once upon a time I lived among men. 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. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. . "Come—the kiss!" cried Austin, endeavouring to pass his arm familiarly round the Amazon's waist.
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