The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. Mr. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. . . . ‘None of them means anything to you at all? How odd. ” He said. But I’m going to-day. In the pause a door could be heard opening and closing on the landing up-stairs.
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