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. I've left mine on the spikes of the New Prison, and must borrow yours. Once he had managed to stake his claim, she would have all to do to prove her identity and win it back. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive.
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