‘The sisters here will not save you. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. "That gown is getting shabby. " "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. " "You'd better hold your peace, my lad," observed Jonathan, in a menacing tone.
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