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What befell Mr. Pickwick when he got into the Fleet; what Prisoners he saw there; and how he passed

           Roker’sstatement,wastheracket-ground;anditfurtherappeared,onthetestimonyofthesamegentleman,thattherewasasmallerareainthatportionoftheprisonwhichwasnearestFarringdonStreet,denominatedandcalled‘thePaintedGround,’fromthefactofitswallshavingoncedisplayedthesemblanceofvariousmen-of-warinfullsail,andotherartisticaleffectsachievedinbygonetimesbysomeimprisoneddraughtsmaninhisleisurehours.

           Havingcommunicatedthispieceofinformation,apparentlymoreforthepurposeofdischarginghisbosomofanimportantfact,thanwithanyspecificviewofenlighteningMr.Pickwick,theguide,havingatlengthreachedanothergallery,ledthewayintoasmallpassageattheextremeend,openedadoor,anddisclosedanapartmentofanappearancebynomeansinviting,containingeightornineironbedsteads.

           ‘There,’saidMr.Roker,holdingthedooropen,andlookingtriumphantlyroundatMr.Pickwick,‘there’saroom!’

           Mr.Pickwick’sface,however,betokenedsuchaverytriflingportionofsatisfactionattheappearanceofhislodging,thatMr.Rokerlooked,forareciprocityoffeeling,intothecountenanceofSamuelWeller,who,untilnow,hadobservedadignifiedsilence.‘There’saroom,youngman,’observedMr.Roker.

           ‘Iseeit,’repliedSam,withaplacidnodofthehead.

           ‘Youwouldn’tthinktofindsucharoomasthisintheFarringdonHotel,wouldyou?’saidMr.

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