Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. She wouldn't be able to pass by anywhere without folks turning their heads. 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 told you I did not love you.
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