His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. " "I don't object to the likeness, if any such exists, young Sir," returned Jackson, darting an angry glance at Thames; "indeed I'm rather flattered by being thought to resemble a gentleman of Mr. Gerald hoped he had covered all options and had resisted the temptation to pay mademoiselle a visit. "Aha!" exclaimed Jackson. " At this moment, Saint Sepulchre's clock struck six. 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. One doesn’t want to lose a grain.
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