“It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. “So am I. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. “That he should be in the same world with me!” said Ann Veronica, reduced to reading the list of good things the British Tea-Table Company had priced for its patrons. Hastening along the passage he came to the sixth door. “Well,” she achieved at last. For a long time he remained standing before the fire, staring at the situation.
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