She didn’t choose her man. . . The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. Fifty sent home. Annabel, I was lying. I saw him first a few months ago at Mrs. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified.
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