She didn’t choose her man. “You see, I will take your arm. I never could. There was a recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming. I know what I am talking about. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. And now, Sir, have I kept faith with you?" "You have," replied Darrell. 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. After a while one began to talk.
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