" "Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?" "No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. Spurling and Marvel rose too. We can be married tomorrow in Paris. 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. ‘Ah, no,’ Gerald uttered at once, lowering his voice and infusing it with all the promise he could command.
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