She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. 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. A shiver slid down inside her. “And how did you find us here?” “I called at Montague Street a few minutes after you had left.
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