"Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" he cried, shouting after the Irishman, who took to his heels as soon as he found his murderous attempt unsuccessful; "you may run, but you'll not get out of my reach. ’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. Prison was bleak without spaciousness, and pervaded by a faint, oppressive smell; and she had to wait two hours in the sullenly defiant company of two unclean women thieves before a cell could be assigned to her. He noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefully done, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. Come, make yourself scarce. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return.
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