But next moment, Captain Roding put up her back. She turned there and beckoned. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved. He stamped his last letter as Annabel entered. 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.
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