" The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for footpassengers. "In with him!" "Ay—ay, yer hon'r," cried the foremost chairman, lending a helping hand. “And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him. Further on, there were impressions of bloody footsteps along the floor. It was intolerable to think that he might overhear words and phrases. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. The door was locked; but, with the bars of iron, it was speedily burst open.
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