"A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. "Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. She was only a few yards from the door, but lacked the courage to rise and fly. To prevent the recurrence of any such escape as that just described, it was deemed expedient, in more recent times, to keep a watchman at the top of Newgate.
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