"Who's that queer cove in the full-bottomed wig?" "Attend to me, sirrah," rejoined Wild, sternly. . Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. 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. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall. The evenings were dulcet and soft.
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