“A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. Someday I'll take you down there and have them rig up the coconut dance for you. Ten thousand islands, and each one good for a night's rest. He had him removed from the Condemned Hold, stripped of his fine apparel, clothed in the most sordid rags, loaded with additional fetters, and thrust into the Stone Hold,—already described as the most noisome cell in the whole prison. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo.
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