One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. She heard the bamboo curtain rattle slightly. But come in, dear. But for him she might have been alive and happy. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely.
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