“So you’re the one my son has been talking about. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. “A man can smoke, a man can swear; A man scores always, everywhere. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. She was standing there, smiling at the audience as at her friends. "Still," went on the manager, "they are slaves in a sense; they are bought and sold until their original indebtedness is paid. But if you do not leave this room I must.
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