These galleries were separated in the middle by iron grates. A few random students gawked at them in the hall. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. He was in a curious state of desperation. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. Considering his convictions he felt that his remark was a generous one. And experience was slow in coming.
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