The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. "But, where's the strange gentleman I saw under the table?" "Under the table!" echoed Blueskin, winking at Jack. 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. She refused to sleep in the same room with him one night, kicking him in the shins.
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