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. Lucy's grin faded. Hearing a noise below, Quilt called out, supposing it occasioned by the Jew. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. ‘I can manage now. He hoped he would get to see the two suitors face off over Lucy.
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