The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. Having drunk as much as he thought prudent, and thanked his unknown friend for his attention, Jack again lay down on the straw, and indulged himself with another nap, intending to get up as soon as it was perfectly dark. On this elevation a table was now placed, around which sat the turnkeys and their guests, regaling themselves on the fragrant beverage provided by the prisoner. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. I presume that you have been living alone?” She sighed gently. "But there's nothing more to see in Canton. ” She appraised him. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly.
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