" "Ay, ay," cried the jailers, laughing. “You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again. 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. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully. He delayed the blow till the fortunate conjuncture was past.
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