If I were Mr. 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. "What is he gone there for?" "With a message to the turnkey to look after his prisoner," replied Wild, with a cunning smile. Say, that girl fooled me at first glance.
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