Then she goes to a dramatic agent. Inside was the blue stone she had lost in the 1800’s. Meantime, the Stone Hall was crowded by all the inmates of the jail, debtors, felons, turnkeys, and officers who could obtain permission to witness the ceremony of the prisoner's irons being struck off. She tried to think how people get work. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. In one of these seats, at the end of the aisle farthest removed from the chancel, the widow took her place, and addressed herself fervently to her devotions. "Here we part,—perhaps for ever.
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