"That's your hunting ground," said the doctor. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. 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.
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