Page 271 of 657

It seems that it was. She had the surest information that of late

he had, when the fit was on him, made use of an opium den in the

farthest east of the City. Hitherto his orgies had always been

confined to one day, and he had come back, twitching and

shattered, in the evening. But now the spell had been upon him

eight-and-forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless among the

dregs of the docks, breathing in the poison or sleeping off the

effects. There he was to be found, she was sure of it, at the Bar

of Gold, in Upper Swandam Lane. But what was she to do? How could

she, a young and timid woman, make her way into such a place and

pluck her husband out from among the ruffians who surrounded him?