Loneliness. Sheppard put out her arms mechanically. It cuts. "Who is it?" "He didn't give his name, Sir," replied the maid; "but he's a young gentleman. Sheppard, with an agonized look at Wood. 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. Those were dreams.
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