He appeared to be a stranger to the prisoner, and the sole motive of his visit, curiosity. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. “Listen to me. "What have you got there in your breast—a stone? Is there blood or water in your veins?" The dam broke, but not with violence. The picture might easily apply to The Tigress: outwardly disreputable, but richly and comfortably appointed below.
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