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. You will have a bungalow to yourself," continued McClintock, "and your morning meal will be your own affair. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still.
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