With astonishment, Gerald saw a rheumy film rimming his old commander’s eyes. The first of these, the Press Room, a dark close chamber, near Waterman's Hall, obtained its name from an immense wooden machine kept in it, with which such prisoners as refused to plead to their indictments were pressed to death—a species of inquisitorial torture not discontinued until so lately as the early part of the reign of George the Third, when it was abolished by an express statute. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. It was his belief that the French had enough troubles of their own in these difficult times without bothering to nose out British business. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. Love—admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me.
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