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 was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. "Bring the light, Nab. They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon. It was not a long prayer.
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