" "My turn comes before yours, Sir," interposed his better half. "And now, widow," continued the ruffian, setting down the candle, and applying his lips to the bottle neck as he flung his heavy frame upon a bench, "I've a piece o' good news for you. ’ Emile reached out both hands and grasped her shoulders. Sir Rowland then fell. He was not Meysey Hill, but an Englishman of business, and he had only a small income. 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.
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