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. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. ’ With an unexpected flush of pleasure, he recalled the girl’s antics. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat.
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