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. ‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go. Still silence everywhere. Say, that girl fooled me at first glance. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. By this time, Jonathan and the vast mob attending him, had come up, and the place was rendered almost as light as day by the links. While there's life there's hope.
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