The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. ’ Leaning down, she raised the hem of the petticoat of her habit to reveal a neat little pair of boots on her feet. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. During the narration Jack's features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the skilful artist.
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