Promise me one thing before I leave you. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. “Dear me!” he said. The prison was two stories high, with a flat roof surmounted by a gilt vane fashioned like a key; and, possessing considerable internal accommodation, it had, in its day, lodged some thousands of disorderly personages. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. “Umph!” he said, and regarded his letter doubtfully before consigning it to the pillar-box. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. I don’t know that I understand altogether.
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