He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. “Stop! Don’t put your face there. ” “Blood of my heart!” whispered Capes, holding her close to him. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. 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. It was locked.
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