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. "He lives at Dollis Hill, a beautiful spot near Willesden, about four or five miles from town, where he has taken a farm. I wonder if I should have locked you up if I’d been your father. And, then, forsooth, she must needs prevent your hanging Jack Sheppard after the robbery in Wych Street, when you might have done so. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. “And then they are swollen up and inflamed and drunken with matter.
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