She wrote it down. “Anna of course would not accept any money from us,” she continued. Tell her, that more than once, when about to commit some desperate offence, I have been restrained by her gentle image. “It means that I have had enough of this slavery,” she declared. “You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. 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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