Such ambitions as he had were stereotyped and material. Wood could not avoid making a slight shuffling sound. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. Stanley, consenting with dignity. " "Are you man, or fiend?" exclaimed Trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration. The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice.
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