He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. She looked into his eyes, truly noticing their gray color for the first time. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. “It would have been rash and unwise,” she said at the end of a meditation. She has never done a really ignoble thing that I know of— never. “She appears to be very popular here,” she remarked.
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