She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. 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.
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