" "With all his cunning, he may meet with his match," continued Kneebone, laughing. A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. The class laughed, a few putting their hands to their foreheads in a military salute to mock her. 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. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. And he did not lack courage. “Am I dull?” she said.
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