After an hour of waiting, she slammed her bedroom door and he returned to his basement. "Your gratitude will vanish with your danger. That’s why I wanted your weapons. 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. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. There was a recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming.
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