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. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. ‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. But I want to know whether in such an event you would stand by me?” She held out her hand.
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