The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Mr. "Prisoner at the bar," thus ran the sentence, "you shall be taken to the prison from whence you came, and put into a mean room, stopped from the light; and shall there be laid on the bare ground, without any litter, straw, or other covering, and without any garment. The office is a sight—not one sheet of paper on another; bills and receipts everywhere. It was a grand life.
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