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I suppose my creed is, ‘I believe rather indistinctly in God the Father Almighty, substratum of the evolutionary process, and, in a vein of vague sentimentality that doesn’t give a datum for anything at all, in Jesus Christ, His Son. “Beautiful these autumn flowers are,” said Ann Veronica, in a wide, uncomfortable pause. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. Entering the workshop, he found the blacksmith occupied in heating the tire of a cart wheel. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. 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. But the wench who tricked me shall bitterly repent it.
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