"I heard his voice; but I saw them on the stairs, and durst not approach him, for fear of giving the alarm. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. And some were adorned with engravings that struck her as being more vulgar and undesirable than anything she had ever seen in her life. But, as this produced no effect, and did not even elicit a groan, the prisoner was carried back to Newgate. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell.
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