“How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. "If I spoke to him, my interest might be misinterpreted. She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face. Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten. 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. Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall.
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