The priceless things were gathered, the belongings packed. 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. Mike and Shari sat at the kitchen table eating potato chips. “I want to know more about this movement,” said Ann Veronica.
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