The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. Poe is all right, if you don't mind nightmares. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair.
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