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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. A glance sufficed to show the young man how matters stood. She felt the thrill race through her body. "'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. Denis.

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