The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. Though by no means so extensive or commodious as the modern prison, Old Newgate was a large and strongly-built pile. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. Why don’t you go in? Charvill is there.
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