Somewhere in the world there was a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her the best he had. It cost her seventy-seven dollars. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. ” She thanked him with a look and rose to her feet. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. ” She felt humiliated. Between his lectures—and primarily he was an itinerant lecturer—he manoeuvred in vain to acquire some facts regarding the girl, who she was, whence she had come; but always she countered with: "What is that?" Guileless she might be; simple, never. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. Below it a prodigiously large bolt was shot into the socket, and, in order to keep it there, was fastened by a hasp, and further protected by an immense padlock.
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