" "I do not doubt it," retorted Winifred, scornfully; "because I attach credit neither to one nor the other. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. This amazing world she had set forth to discover! Yesterday at this time she had had no thought in her head about Canton. " "There's a funny idea in my head. 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. Could you just let me in? I have a surprise for him.
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