They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. God, Lucy, what’s it been, how many years?” “I’m so sorry, John. Like carpenter, like chips. “I mean to go to prison directly the session is over,” said Miss Klegg. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. The odd creak was not to be avoided in an old house such as this.
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