The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. It was not only that her father had said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. “Ugh!” she said. "Your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow. There it is.
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