"Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. 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. He is big and powerful; one of those drinkers who show it but little outwardly. Your own safety—the child's safety—depends upon your candour. Daughters were in the air that day. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. ’ ‘I do not need the rescue from such as you. Wild," he added, laughing, "it must be a stronger prison than Willesden cage that can hold me.
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