I thought my sister and her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay me. “How would you prevent it?” she asked. She sighed with relief. 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. What she admired in her man was his resolute defense of his opinions. His face was downcast.
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