"Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. 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. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. Were it not for your voice, I don't think I should know you. At last his voice came to release her tension. Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast. "Poor creature!" ejaculated Wood. How is it that everyone is aware of these things except me?\" She said.
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