She chuckled. There it is. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. 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. ‘Of course it is,’ corroborated Hilary. In the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding chapter, but little was said of the Lodge.
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