Lucy slipped upstairs silently. Mind, I am anticipating events. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. In the northwest angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers. She began to draw on her gloves thoughtfully. She might even forgive him. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor.
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