The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. “Please let me drive you home. A sense of impending disaster was upon him. "Where is he?" asked Jonathan. "If I had my old tools with me, we'd soon master this obstacle," he muttered.
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