But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. "Mr. Sheppard's house, "forward!" "Hurrah!" shouted the mob, and the whole phalanx was put in motion in that direction. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. It had been a trying day. "This gentleman wants a pair of oars," said the landlord. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. I’ve had the rarest luck and fallen on my feet. “No, no,” she cried. 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.
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