” “Then condemn me to Hell. ” The girl sat up and looked at him with a curious twist at the corners of her mouth —humorous or pathetic, he could not tell which. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. "Spare me!" Jonathan, however, instead of answering him, searched for his knife, with the intention of severing his wrist.
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