The day is already half over. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock.
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