But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him. "How goes it?" he began, heartily. . . ‘I must see the lady who is my great-aunt. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. . We smirk, and we’re a bit—furtive.
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