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. ‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. You don't notice the heat; but it is always there, pressing down. ” Lucy’s nagging worry raised its own status to full blown alarm. Be honest, and you will be happy. Her mind jumped with questions as fear raced through her and hardened into a bid for retaliation.
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