He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. On this side a flight of wooden steps, protected by a hand-rail, led to a door opening upon the summit of the prison. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. No more. Can you wonder that I expect you to fulfil yours?” “I am not aware,” she answered, “that I have ever failed in doing so.
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