Others are smart but fall prey to emotional damage, the female lunar instinct of cunning that goes awry. 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. "Hurrah!" shouted he, waving his hat triumphantly over his head. They send you every good wish. But she does not resemble you in any other way.
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