’ She turned and swept away from him, pacing the length of the room to the window Gerald had unshuttered. “The conventions do not matter one little bit. They shall hear of me no more. 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. My mother really wants to meet you. One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least.
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