She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. 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. If only we are not divided. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. “Friendships that are all very well between school-girls don’t always go on into later life.
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