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On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. She remembered the doctor's warning that the real battle would begin when the patient recovered consciousness. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. Too much, perhaps. And not on Melusine’s account, but to see Prudence, who had no use for a cavalier.
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