"Here, Caliban," shouted the under-turnkey, "unlock Captain Sheppard's padlock, and tell him his wives are in the Lodge waiting to see him. Ludicrously loud sounds streamed from the array of speakers. Around him were all the evidences of plenty. ’ ‘You ain’t never!’ ‘Back to your post, Trodger,’ ordered the harassed captain. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time.
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