This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. "You can render no further service to your poor mother. Manning. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. Altogether different. She could not bear the shame of it. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. A large dog was then set at him by a stable-boy; but, striking the animal with his faithful iron-bar, he speedily sent him yelping back.
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