‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. ‘That is my mother. By this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, Quilt entered the cell. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. Meantime, the Stone Hall was crowded by all the inmates of the jail, debtors, felons, turnkeys, and officers who could obtain permission to witness the ceremony of the prisoner's irons being struck off.
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