The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 287: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE GLASS OF LIQUEUR 253 was introduced into that temple of voluptuousness whither the milliner was wont at times to admit her favoured elect. Throwing himself upon a chair, the constable cast his eyes around the chamber, every feature of which he sur- veyed with that semi-vacancy which characterizes the looks of a man who has taken a drop too much; but when his eyes settled upon the downy bed, with its linen of snowy whiteness and its pillows soft and luxurious even to the view, all the fury of his animal passions rekindled with consuming ardour. Rising from his seat, he caughd the milliner in his arms, and, straining her in his uncouth embrace, he pressed his parched and heated lips to her own. Then, resuming the chair, he forced her to sit upon his knees. ‘You are uncommon handsome, my dear,’ he murmured, in a voice rendered more than naturally thick and hoarse by the desires which were devouring him; ‘ and I knowed you wouldn’t play the cruel when once we came to a good understanding together.” ‘‘ You seem to be thirsty, your lips are dry, your tongue is parched,” said Mrs. Brace, who had thus far abandoned herself to the odious toyings of the constable because it suited her purpose to appear thus docile, calm, and resigned. ‘Well, I am athirst,” he responded, rolling his feverish tongue over his cracking lips. “T have wine, spirits, and liqueurs in that cupboard,” said the milliner, gently disengaging herself from his arms and rearranging the corsage of her dress. ‘“ You’re exceedin’ kind, my dear,’’ observed Grumley, fixing upon her his looks of the grossest, most brutal lasciv- iousness. ‘‘ Suppose you give me a little wine and water fust, to squench this terrible thirst; and then I’ll take a sip of — what d’ye call them last things you spoke of ?”’ “ Liqueurs,’ responded the milliner, whose manner was glacial and passionless as her tone was cold and meaningless. “Here are curacoa, noyau, golden water, and Dantzic brandy.” ‘‘ Well, my dear, I leave it all to you to choose me a glass of the best of them stuffs,” returned the constable, “ for I can’t say as how I ever tasted any of them. So let us have the wine and water fust, the what-d’ye-call-it next, and then to bed in a jiffy.” (C(O) mG JOO