A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. It was ten feet long, a relic. As she stared her eyes grew accustomed to the night; and she discovered five persons instead of four. This horrible piece of deformity, who acted as drawer and cellarman, and was a constant butt to the small wits of the jail, was nicknamed the Black Dog of Newgate. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. The coolies proceeded at a swinging, mincing trot, which gave to the suspended seat a dancing action similar to that of a suddenly agitated hangingspring of a birdcage. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica.
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