For a long time he remained standing before the fire, staring at the situation. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day. "Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. Even to my own brother—if I had one—I could not tell everything, and you, although you are so kind, you are almost a stranger, aren’t you?” “No, no!” he protested. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. 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. He taught her about crowds, which men were the evilest, how to locate and dispose society’s garbage.
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