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CHAPTER IV.
MOENIBUS SURDIS CAMPANA MUTA.
Ursus smoothed the felt of the hat, touched the cloth of the cloak, the
serge of the coat, the leather of the esclavine, and no longer able to
doubt whose garments they were, with a gesture at once brief and
imperative, and without saying a word, pointed to the door of the inn.
Master Nicless opened it.
Ursus rushed out of the tavern.
Master Nicless looked after him, and saw Ursus run, as fast as his old
legs would allow, in the direction taken that morning by the wapentake
who carried off Gwynplaine.
A quarter of an hour afterwards, Ursus, out of breath, reached the
little street in which stood the back wicket of the Southwark jail,
which he had already watched so many hours. This alley was lonely enough
at all hours; but if dreary during the day, it was portentous in the
night. No one ventured through it after a certain hour. It seemed as
though people feared that the walls should close in, and that if the
prison or the cemetery took a fancy to embrace, they should be crushed
in their clasp. Such are the effects of darkness. The pollard willows of
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