'Ay! This place?' returned the old man, staying his pinch of snuff
on its road, and pointing at the place without looking at it.
'This is the Marshalsea, sir.'

'The debtors' prison?'

'Sir,' said the old man, with the air of deeming it not quite
necessary to insist upon that designation, 'the debtors' prison.'

He turned himself about, and went on.

'I beg your pardon,' said Arthur, stopping him once more, 'but will
you allow me to ask you another question? Can any one go in here?'

'Any one can go IN,' replied the old man; plainly adding by the
significance of his emphasis, 'but it is not every one who can go
out.'

'Pardon me once more. Are you familiar with the place?'

'Sir,' returned the old man, squeezing his little packet of snuff
in his hand, and turning upon his interrogator as if such questions
hurt him. 'I am.'

'I beg you to excuse me. I am not impertinently curious, but have
a good object. Do you know the name of Dorrit here?'

'My name, sir,' replied the old man most unexpectedly, 'is Dorrit.'