"Oh! that was all, was it?" said the turnkey, quietly reseating himself. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. Only promise me to amend—to quit your vile companions—and I will forgive you—will bless you. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy.
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