In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form. The south or principal front, looking, down the Old Bailey, and not upon it, as is the case of the present structure, with its massive walls of roughened freestone,—in some places darkened by the smoke, in others blanched, by exposure to the weather,—its heavy projecting cornice, its unglazed doubly-grated windows, its gloomy porch decorated with fetters, and defended by an enormous iron door, had a stern and striking effect. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. Availing himself of certain inequalities in the door, he soon managed to climb up to the roof; and securing his feet against a slight projection in the wall, began to use the fork with great effect.
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