Behind Mrs. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica. Beyond the hatch, an angle, formed by a projection in the wall of some three or four feet, served to hide a door conducting to the interior of the prison. 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. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. She listened with dumb fear in her eyes. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her.
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