I will make her my Grail, and some day, perhaps, if God wills, she shall become my wife!’” He looked very hard before him as he said this, and his voice was full of deep feeling. 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. On that first occasion, the delay in locating the entrance to the secret passage meant that she had to wait until morning to make her search. She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly. For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless.
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