“Nothing. Perhaps I may borrow yours one day?’ ‘Lucilla, you wretch,’ burst from the captain. Beyond that everything was nebulous. As soon as he was gone, Jonathan went up stairs to the audience-chamber; and, sitting down, appeared for some time buried in reflection. Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees.
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