In the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding chapter, but little was said of the Lodge. That night, she hunted the alleyways of the old town. “It’s because I mean to send it back altogether,” she said. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian.
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