At length, at the end of a passage, next to the cell where Mrs. "She is here," cried Jack, darting forward. 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. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00.
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