‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. F. Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. " "No doubt, my dear," acquiesced the carpenter, "no doubt. ’ The old man simply stared at her.
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