" At this moment, Saint Sepulchre's clock struck six. “I am happy. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. “He’s got almost to like it.
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