"Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. Quickly he compared the Hs. “Something. Her straight strawberry blonde hair was exactly Cathy’s. 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 do not understand, Gérard.
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