It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. 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. “I love you, Ann Veronica. One peculiarity she did not fail to notice. He is steeped in the conventions. You have watched all the uncouth creations of my brain come sprawling out upon the canvas, and besides, we have been companions. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. Did he intend to kill her now, this instant? Or had she a moment or two to try to save herself? Recalling Leonardo’s dictum, she did not struggle, for that would only tighten the trap about her, and perhaps even spring it. E.
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