All the turnkeys were assembled. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. Never was there another girl like this one. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace. Stanley’s pace slackened. Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. “What do you mean?” she asked.
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