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Wood uttered something like an imprecation. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. “You are developing far too retentive a memory for praises,” said Ann Veronica. "Where are you going?" she asked. He wondered why she thought love made people happy, and began to talk of the smilax and pinks that adorned the table. “If it will keep you busy,” he said, with a faintly ironical smile. Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees.
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