‘Do not imagine that I will leave poor Jacques. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. His face fell. When he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question.
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