"Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. I really am enjoying it. "I knew it. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred. Nothing material occurred to Newgate, until the memorable year 1666, when it was utterly destroyed by the Great Fire.
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