She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. She was shifting, moving back. No sooner had Trenchard crossed the threshold than a fierce barking was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and, the next moment, a couple of mastiffs of the largest size rushed furiously towards him. He even thought he could detect the voice of Jonathan, urging and directing them. PITT, the keeper of Newgate.
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