"His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. 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. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations.
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