“It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. . Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. 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. Beware of him, my son! Beware of him! You know not what villany he is capable of. ” “It was a mistake,” she faltered.
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