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. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. ‘Do you need an excuse?’ ‘Oh, you know what doctors are. “One doesn’t wait,” said Ann Veronica. Figg! In a few minutes, all will be over.
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