Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. They either ran to see or ran for shelter. I’m not mad that he has eyes for you instead of me, not mad at all. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are.
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