I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. 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. "I'm not particular about rooms. ” “Can’t we arrange something? Can’t we make a sort of treaty?” “He wouldn’t keep it. ‘On the contrary,’ Gerald argued, frowning. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch.
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