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After all, life had still its pulsations. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. Sheppard, raising herself, and looking at him as if her life depended upon the answer. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. Anna was unimpressed.
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