His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. Holcroft, we may have been mistaken. No idea that you were here, though. . 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. I suppose because it IS the chief thing in life.
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