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. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. You DO understand?” “Who cares for most people?” she said, not looking at him. “My dear Anna! As though I should think of depressing you with my long list of misdeeds.
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