She dumped him because she claimed she didn’t want him to go any farther. But though she lied about pretty much everything else, she didn’t lie about that. You know—if you want freedom. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her. ‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly. John stared palely. 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. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again.
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