\" She opened the front door with her keys, stepping inside. " "Pity!" shrieked the widow. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. “But that’s not all. I think it inadvisable—I don’t want an intimacy to spring up between you and a man of that type. "I am happy—quite happy now. As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses. But machinery will never approach the hand.
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