Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. He was a stranger. And, for one expedition at least, we will go up this desolate valley here to Mattmark, and so on to Monte Moro. I doubt I hold any interest for him anymore. As to his mother, I've no pity for her. He was confined in the Middle Stone Ward, a spacious apartment, with good light and air, situated over the gateway on the western side, and allotted to him, not for his own convenience, but for that of the keepers, who, if he had been placed in a gloomier or more incommodious dungeon, would have necessarily had to share it with him.
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