And, though it's a long time ago, I feel as sore on the subject as ever. “The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. Wasn’t it—a little bit of a scene?” “Oh! let me see. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. They will find me dead, yes. The prison was two stories high, with a flat roof surmounted by a gilt vane fashioned like a key; and, possessing considerable internal accommodation, it had, in its day, lodged some thousands of disorderly personages.
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