The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. When she reflected that 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. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death.
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