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"He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. On the right of the postern against the wall was affixed a small grating, sustaining the debtor's box; and any pleasure which the passerby might derive from contemplating the splendid structure above described was damped at beholding the pale faces and squalid figures of the captives across the bars of its strongly-grated windows. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 26-09-2024 08:44:01