Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears. 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. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?.
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