“Ah, Vee,” he said, “that’s better! and kissed her back rather clumsily. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. His efforts at self-destruction were, however, prevented. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. It has instead found you.
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