Tears sprang to her eyes. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. 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. Gosse cursed him finely, of course, but there was nothing he could do. As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses.
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