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. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. “Martin, you realize that I’m dating someone, don’t you?” She knew his reply before he uttered it. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. ‘You speak as if you expected to meet her again, Gerald. V.
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