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. Then her head disappeared suddenly in her hands, and her shoulders shook violently. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. “Where are we going?” Lucy asked desperately as Michelle began to twitch with greater frequency. She leaned over and kissed his cheek innocently.
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