"Impossible!" echoed Wild, with a fearful imprecation. “Well,” she said. "Hoddy, Hoddy!… No, no! This is my father!" warned Ruth. " "Stand off, Sir!" exclaimed Trenchard, starting suddenly backwards. 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. Tears began to stream from her cheeks.
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