"At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. ‘And we shall see which of us is more quick. The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. “I think,” began Ann Veronica, “that you don’t realize—” He disregarded her entirely.
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