‘You are, I think, a gentleman, no?’ Gerald bowed. 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. We will find some way out of it. A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us.
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