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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. She said as much to him. Jack paused for a moment, and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it. I’m sorry. \"Great!\" I'll drive you.
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