" In an angle of the Stone Hall was the Iron Hold, a chamber containing a vast assortment of fetters and handcuffs of all weights and sizes. Come and see him, Lucia. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. But you must allow me to observe, my good Sir, that you're wholly in the wrong respecting my friend. ‘Don’t concern yourself. ‘Ah, the tragedy. The twists in his brain had suddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and he knew now exactly what he had done. We smirk, and we’re a bit—furtive.
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