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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. But at the word “home” she turned again. "I've got to see him; but I'll be reasonable. Tell me why you ran away from the convent. “Oh, I can’t thank you. Now do not make me any more arguments, but tell me at once where that pig is gone. Lost me place, that’s all. Natives are queer. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinary cases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject.
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