There was no rush. ” She paused for a moment. Her eyes threatened to leak tears, she blinked. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. Her sister had told him that it was true. 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. Only she was conscious of an unfamiliar and wonderful emotion.
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