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“You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. “Do you know, I have been wondering what had become of you,” she said. ” “My wife was astounded—wounded beyond measure. ‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. Old Jersey and Hampshire family, the Pellissiers, and a capital stock, too, I believe. 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. The echoes of his hard, unpleasant laugh reached Anna on her way upstairs. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness.
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