Of course I knew all about him years ago, and he is exactly like everybody’s description of him. Above this revolting spot was the female debtor's ward; below it a gloomy cell, called Tangier; and, lower still, the Stone Hold, a most terrible and noisome dungeon, situated underground, and unvisited by a single ray of daylight. She tightened her bandage and sat back, biting her lip. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. I shall know what to say to him when he comes. Stop it. That’s the fact about them. People of your sort—I don’t want the instincts to—to rush our situation.
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