Notwithstanding the heat of the season,—which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this subterranean region,—a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever flame shone upon. “You’re an idiot and your attitude is repugnant. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. He had heard this talk before. Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. "And now to see the end of it," said Jonathan, shortly afterwards passing through the window.
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