. ’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. When he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. The dress was her mother's, and she was wearing it to save a little extra money.
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