“Non. You’re never going to believe this, by the way. 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 dozen words, and he saw Enschede as clearly as though he stood hard by in the flesh. She would never again be lonely.
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