” After all, it was not so easy. "Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. 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. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. “The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. “Solitary walks?” “That’s the point of them. ” “Don’t tempt me,” she said, laughing, and drawing her opera-cloak together. The silence grew unbearable, so she asked, \"What is your surname, John?\" \"My surname? You mean my last name?\" \"Yes.
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