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. "This she-devil has got hold of the sack. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. We shall never have an heir, you and I! My family is crumbling; all of my brothers are dead. They used the rope—not that a rope was at all necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death in the event of some remotely possibly mischance. And don’t talk until we’re well out of earshot.
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