" On the appearance of his visitors, Sheppard arose,—his gyves clanking heavily as he made the movement,—and folding his arms, so far as his manacles would permit him, upon his breast, steadily returned the glances fixed upon him. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. 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. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. Your career at the bar had given you a command of language, also a self-control not vouchsafed to us ordinary mortals. I kicked the living shit out of him.
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