The Mysteries of London; or, Revelations of the British Metropolis — page 82: what you’re looking at

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

nae 1Bx- z.. ‘tern; Temperance, you devil’s daughter, wo a man, one giass more or less makes no difference ; re 80 | MYSTERIES labyrinths which bear the name of St. Gite Here he entered a narrow and winding alley whe the fog rendered the air so thick that it was wit difficulty he could see two paces before him, a | though it was pany midday. 4 if God save me! Temperance, said Bob on enter ing the cellar; you are roasting yourself hke @ old devil, as you are. 4 Ne one replied. The red hot stove was roa aT ing like a forge bellows. : Temperance! Temperance: reined Bob I | | | you answer me P A human snoring was added to the roaring | 9 the stove, anda grumbling voice pronounced these words, though interrupted by the stammering insensi bility of drowsiness. Another glass, Mr. Goose, another glass Vie gin is good, and it is old Bob who pays for it! Lam thirsty, exclaimed she, gazing at Bob with® a sort of vacant stare. 4 Oh! you are thirsty, are you ? sponge! replied: the latter, brandishing the poker; you are thirsty —and I, who work hard all day to earn a few miserable pence—you are thirsty—you get drunk —may God deliver me! but some day, Temper-_ ance, I shail dash your brains out against the wali. Notwithstanding the brutal energy of hie threstall thers was a tenderness in Bob's voice, even while” thus speaking. . Now, now, my pretty Bob, replied the tail wo- | and my throat ig Durning: ee icomicbooks.com; eo a oe _" +e. , en” LS Bee « *