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. "Oh lord! I hope not. Soup would help you feel better, soup and hot tea. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. Sometimes I think you would have been much better off if you had been born in death-worshipping Egypt instead of in the Fourteenth Century. Every one took him for the millionaire, and he had lost his head about me.
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