“Did you tell him?” Capes smiled faintly. 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. A neighbor stopped by as the day wore on, causing her to duck and cower as he rang the doorbell over and over. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. "I knew that would bring him to," thought Wild.
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