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. ‘Lord in heaven, could it be so?’ ‘Don’t look at me,’ exploded Hilary. It was empty. Cathy and Shari toiled over boiling pots of potatoes, candied sweet potatoes with orange rind, corn casserole, and almond green beans.
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