’ ‘Who is that?’ demanded Lucilla eagerly. “Does it hurt?” Michelle asked. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. 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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