There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. "From that door," continued the thief-taker, pointing to the gloomy portal of the prison opposite which they were standing, "the condemned are taken to Tyburn. You make a game with me, imbecile. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese. "That's a fine tale," said Spurlock.
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