Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. The baby was placed in her 19 lap. The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. Joyous, she felt the need of physical expression; and her body began to sway sinuously, to glide and turn and twist about the room. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites.
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