As soon as this ceremony
was over, all who were not broken with fever were led up two flights
of stone stairs. An iron door was opened, and the sound of heavy
snoring struck their ears. Inside they perceived by the light of the
jailer's lantern a dozen figures stretched on straw pallets, and
between the sleepers as many more empty couches, for which the
newcomers were left to scramble. Tristram secured one as the door
clanged and left them in pitch-black night, but gave it up to a
pitiful wretch who crept near and kissing his hand implored leave to
share it. Curling himself up upon the bare floor, he was quickly
asleep and dreaming of Sophia.
A hand shook his shoulder and aroused him. Looking up, he saw a
couple of villainous faces, which he did not recognise as belonging
to the gang he had been walking with for two days. It was morning,
as he could perceive by the light that was strained through a
cobwebbed grating over his head.
The two men demanded if he wished to be tossed in a blanket.
Tristram, not understanding, shook his head.
They thereupon demanded money and began to threaten. Tristram hit
one violently in the eye, and catching the other by the throat
pounded his head against the wall of the dungeon.
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