The Ragged Edge. F. I am your servitor. The doctor drew out the contents hopefully. 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. He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. "Good gracious! so I do," exclaimed his amiable consort. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. "Austin will stare," thought Jack, "when he comes here in the morning. “Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica.
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