CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. ‘To go to these Charvill, it was not in my plot. 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. ” “Don’t worry yourself. As Spurlock called her name, she paused and turned. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities. '—'No fear o' that,' thought I. “Just leave them with me for now, Clotilde. She turned them down and gently placed the violin back in its red fake fur lined chamber. "Follow me, Thames," cried Jack, dropping into the chasm.
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