No umbrella either, the sky was delightfully overcast. Anna leaned forward, watching the people in the streets. She was weeping now. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. . 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. “You permitted me then to call you my friend. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume.
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