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. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. When the carpenter concluded his recital, Jonathan was for a moment lost in reflection. He knew it to be St.
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