“It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. Outside in the hall he paused and thoughtfully stroked his smooth blue chin. You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter. 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. That was the true marvel of it.
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