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 have nothing to forgive. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. A granddaughter of mine!’ The idiocy of this notion stuck in his craw and he could think of nothing else for a moment.
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