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. " "Have you told her?" "Told her? Told her what?" Spurlock sat straight in his chair. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. Crouching down, Gerald waited, hands at the ready. ‘What is it that you told him?’ ‘Nothing, miss, I swear.
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