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But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. 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 am sure,” she said, “that you mean to stay until you are turned out. This whole affair is truly my fault.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 29-09-2024 10:19:00