“It is part of the irony of life,” he said. 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. ’ ‘I have no game. " "It's a queer girl. E. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. ” His rhythm slowed to a grind. How I could have been such a fool I’ll never know.
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