" The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. What was his transport on perceiving that a few yards above him a light was burning. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. ” There was a strange look in her face, the look of a frightened child. Treading with noiseless step over the soft mould, they soon reached the building. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging.
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