"No such thing," rejoined Thames. Spiders came out of their hiding places to commune in windows, industriously spinning their own designs over the stained glass. The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. Take me to the Stone Room. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes.
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