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. “I see nothing of my sister,” she said. “No, she just worries that I’ll go Satanic and start chomping the heads off of bats and mice or something. You must be lonely here with only a few men friends.
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