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dwelt here, or like a deserted mansion in the
time of the plague. The gates in the walls
are locked: one of them is opened for us: the
gaoler stands with his bunch of keys: the
yard is empty, but clean – even the grass
weeded away between the stone paving. We
enter the waiting-room, where the prisoner is
received: we are shown the bathing-room,
into which he is first led. We now ascend a
flight of stairs, and are in a large hall, extending
the whole length and breadth of the building.
Galleries run along the floors, and between
these the priest has his pulpit, where he
preaches on Sundays to an invisible
congregation. All the doors facing the gallery are
half opened: the prisoners hear the priest, but
cannot see him, nor he them. The whole is a
well-built machine – a nightmare for the spirit.
In the door of every cell there is fixed a glass,
about the size of the eye: a slide covers it, and
the gaoler can, unobserved by the prisoner,
see everything he does; but he must come
gently, noiselessly, for the prisoner’s ear is
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