He knocked on the doorframe. "Then you haven't heard?" "Of what?" "Well, well!" cried the manager, delighted at the idea of surprising the doctor. "Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. "Then I presume you've not been arrested?" "I have not," answered Wood firmly. I sha'n't cry any more. 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. ’ I said.
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