There was a lock, apparently more than a foot wide, strongly plated, and girded to the door with thick iron hoops. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. I am going to make a fresh start. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. She glanced into his face. take it slow. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true. .
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