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. . From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. These were the Master of the Mint, Van Galgebrok, and Mrs. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. Lucy’s cool. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word.
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