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. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. He waved a cordial goodbye.
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