' That's your signal. A kind but hard looking female officer named Rose took her into a room and sat her down at a small wooden table. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. 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. ‘Champion?’ ‘The lad you saw following her.
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