“You are talking like a boy. “It was,” she admitted. Sheppard, with a frenzied laugh. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. 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. You shall tell me if I am wrong.
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