The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. Glancing at the finger-post over the cage, which has been described as situated at the outskirts of the village, and seeing no directions to Dollis Hill, he made fresh inquiries as to where it lay, from an elderly man, who was standing with another countryman near the little prison.
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