Had he found the secret door? Running to the centre, she tried to judge where the knocking came from. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. 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. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face.
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