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The doctor sensed that his bolt had gone wrong, but he could not tell how or why. 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. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. Her desires were not for riches. I have calculated my chances, you perceive. It was a hoax, it was the only thing possible, until she heard Cathy say, “Let me hold those for you.
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