260 “Can you turn me into one?” “Yes, I can turn you into one tonight. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. They bickered frequently now as Gianfrancesco protested the prices of things like funeral candles and poultices to comfort the dying. He found, however, that now the time had come he utterly lacked the courage to attempt any such speech. “I was never at any such dinner, and I am quite sure that I do not know you. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out. 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. In the flagged entrance hallway at the bottom, where extra light came in from a window above the double doors, it was easy enough to distinguish a family group, and a landscape which clearly included Remenham House in the distance.
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