"Your uncle must protect you. “Who can tell?” she said. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. 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. She resolved to walk across the Park to the Zoological gardens, and so on by way of Primrose Hill to Hampstead Heath. “I will tell you as much as this,” she continued. However the taste of the architecture may be questioned, which was the formal French style of the period, the general effect was imposing. This I have sworn to do—this I will do.
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